Erebor Restored
by Rose of Zakarisz
Summary: The Lonely Mountain is reclaimed. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli recover from their wounds while Dáin makes himself at home. A Fix-it fic because I grew too attached to fictional characters and couldn't let them die.
1. Prologue

Tauriel cried out as she was flung across the wide ledge. Winded and exhausted to a degree that she had never felt before she pushed herself up to take in the scene before her. She could only look on in dread as the great Orc Bolg raised his ax high, his grip on the Dwarf beneath him unrelenting. Leaf green eyes met orbs as brown as the earth and in that gaze, she could see a goodbye.

A rush flooded her being and an all consuming anger gave her strength.

_How dare he._

Tauriel knew she would not make it back across the expanse in time to stop the horror playing out before her.

_How dare he give up._

From the pouch on her belt she withdrew Kíli's token and with a split seconds prayer that her aim would be true, Tauriel let the stone fly.

_How dare he give up when she was just beginning to understand what lay between them._

Stone struck blade as both cut through the air and Tauriel felt her heart fracture as the bladed handle of the mace pierced flesh. Kíli cried out in pain and he held her gaze for a moment more. With a great shuddering gasp and tears leaking from his eyes, he lay still.

The world grew dark at the edges and all that Tauriel could see was the unmoving form of Kíli. She had no care for the threat of Bolg, nor for Legolas when he appeared and drew the Orc away. Slowly, as if in a dream, she crawled to the Dwarf's side.

Tauriel gathered Kíli into her arms. She had felt sorrow in the past, had mended a broken heart after the loss of her parents, but the pain that tore through her as she held Kíli in her arms was incomparable. Her mouth opened on a soundless cry and tears streaked the grime on her face. Her sorrow found it's voice and a howling grief clawed it's way up from within her. She wrapped herself tightly around him and buried her face in the bush of his hair.

A faint puff of air caressed her ear and Tauriel choked on her next sob. She stilled, not even daring to breath. Feather soft, and far too light, Kíli drew another breath.

Adrenaline once more flooded through Tauriel, washing the growing fatigue within her away. She gathered the injured Dwarf into her arms and raced to the stairs that would lead her down; down the hill, down to the battlefield, down to where the healers would be. His cut was deep and her knowledge of medicine limited. While she could purify a wound of Morgul taint, she dared not risk Kíli's life when others more skilled were so near at hand.

Her steps were swift and when Tauriel reached the bottom her voice rang out over the fields. An answering call was returned from a distance and she set out as fast as her tired legs would take her. The fighting was beginning to thin out, and for that she was thankful, as it meant fewer blades to dodge on her way.

At the base of the western spur of the mountain was the elven encampment. Fair brows were drawn up in surprise as she drew nearer and the form she held in her arms became clear.

"He is hurt. Badly." She pleaded with them.

The healers moved forward as one. Whatever hostility lay between Elves and Dwarves had been set aside, at least for a time, to fight the greater threat. Tauriel lay the unmoving form of Kíli on the ground and stepped away. She had done all that she could to save him, now all that was left was wait. With the fear and fight drained from her system, she sank to the ground, exhausted beyond all measure.

Tauriel let her gaze drift across the battlefield. The Orcs were fleeing. So many still bodies lie on the ground waiting to be claimed. She breathed deeply for the first time since the shores of Lake Town and forced herself to relax a measure, though she could not let go of all of her tension; not while Kíli lay bleeding on the ground; not while he still needed protecting. She knelt there on the grass, a silent sentinel, watching as her people fought to save the life of the one she feared to lose.

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><p>AN: I have a horrible habit of not finishing the stories that I start. I have a decent outline for most of this story but I don't know how quickly I will be writing. If it looks like there won't be anymore coming, I'll change this from a prologue to a stand alone. I'll try, but no promises. I've never written anything this large before and I am more than a bit intimidated.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: So far, so good on the writing front. I plan to post a new chapter every week I the hopes that I can get ahead that way.

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><p>The first time Kíli reached for consciousness he was overwhelmed by what greeted him. The world was over-bright and harsh sounds grated at his ears. He thrashed where he lay, trying to bring his surroundings into focus. A lilting voice cut through the fog of his mind, and a soothing hand was laid on his brow. The words were foreign, but the voice was familiar, and he let himself fall back into oblivion.<p>

The second time Kíli could remember waking he opened his eyes to a darkened room. The stone ceiling above was new to him, but the smell evoked memories of his childhood. He had never been a particularly careful child, always more preoccupied with whatever adventure he had been on at the time. He tried to remember now why he should be waking in a healer's bed. His sluggish mind sifted through recent events. The battle, Fíli falling, Bolg, and...

"Tauriel." Kíli struggled to raise himself up as her name passed his lips.

"I see how it is," came a sleepy voice from the next cot over. "Not even a thought for your dear brother?"

Kíli focused on the figure rising next to him and was laughing with relief as his brother closed the distance and reached for him. They embraced for a moment, both relishing in the fact that the other had survived before Fíli pushed him back to lie down.

"But how?" Kíli shook his head in disbelief, confusion plain on his face. "I saw you fall."

The elder Dwarf lit a lamp on the bedside table and turned it down low before he made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, one leg on the cot and facing his brother. "Aye, and I've had a bit of a limp since then, but it gets better by the day."

"And Thorin?" He made to sit up again and with a huff Fíli moved to help him.

"Driving Óin mad at every available opportunity." It was said with exasperation and a fond smile as he propped his brother up with pillows. "The King Under the Mountain will not suffer to be confined to his bed."

Kíli smiled at the image that evoked. "And the others?"

Fíli nodded, settling back again, "All well. It seems that we three took the brunt of it in our company." He looked to the Dwarves laying in the beds around them. "Not all of Dáin's men were so lucky."

Silence hung between the brothers for a moment. He desperately wanted to ask his next question, but was afraid of what the answer might be. "And Tauriel?"

Fíli leaned back on his elbows with a grin, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Who?"

As much as he loved his brother, Kíli was in no mood to be tormented. "You know exactly who I'm talking about," he demanded.

"Ah yes. You're lady love," the blond Dwarf teased with a chuckle.

Kíli could feel his cheeks heating and his anxiety begin to dissipate at his brother's light hearted manner. Surely he would not jest if the answer were dire.

Finally his brother gave in and with a tilt of his head put the younger Dwarf's fears to rest. "She is here. In the mountain."

"Where?" Kíli's eyes searched the long hall as if she were to be found hidden in the shadows.

"Sleeping I would imagine," Fíli's playful tone turned sardonic, "like all those who have any sense about them."

He was the furthest he could be from sleep and pushed himself further up on the pillows. "Has she asked about me?"

"Go back to sleep, brother," Fíli pleaded half-heartedly, though Kíli was certain the other Dwarf knew that would not happen anytime soon.

The young Dwarf huffed, as petulant as a child, and crossed his arms over his chest for emphasis. "I've been asleep for what feels like ages." He relaxed again as a new thought occurred to him. "How long _has _it been?"

His brother cocked a brow and said in mock seriousness, "Nearly seven days." He continued on in a lighter tone. "That really is quite impressive. I believe you now hold the new record for time infirmed."

Kíli kicked at his brother's leg and then winced as the movement twinged the wound in his side.

Fíli sat up in concern. "I should let Óin know that you're awake. Thorin too."

He waved away his brother's worry. "I want to see Tauriel." At the doubtful look he received, he pressed on. "I _need_ to see her."

Fíli shifted on the bed and looked away without responding.

The apprehension from earlier returned with a vengeance. Kíli's voice was soft when he asked, "Where is she?"

Fíli still would not meet his gaze when he answered. "She spends her days here, helping Óin." The next was said with a forced cheer, "And mooning over you, of course."

Kíli refused to be diverted. "And where does she spend her nights?"

"You must understand," Fíli started vehemently. "When she came to the gates covered in blood and you in her arms, no one knew what to think."

"Fíli."

Ignoring his brother's warning tone, Fíli pressed on. "At first, most presumed that you were dead, and she, a messenger of Thranduil sent to gloat. Dáin wanted her head right then and there, or so I've been told. It was Bofur who spoke for her first. Who argued that she had saved your life in Lake-town."

"Fíli!" What little patience Kíli had was slipping away. A loud snort and a grumble came from a bed in the darkness.

His brother waited until the sounds of snoring once more filled the air before answering in a hushed voice. "You know as well as I there is only one way that Dáin would welcome an Elf into Erebor. And with Thorin still unrecovered from the battlefield it was his voice the people were following." Fíli met Kíli's gaze and finally answered with a sigh. "The dungeon. She spends her nights in the dungeon."

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><p>The pair would have made quite the sight, if anyone had been around to see it. Two hunched figures stumbling down the majestic corridors of The Lonely Mountain. One, a Dwarf who could barely keep himself upright, being all but carried by another with a hobbling step. Their hushed voices carried over the polished stone floor as they bickered.<p>

"Thorin will have my head if he finds out about this. I ought to take you straight back to your bed," Fíli threatened as they began to descend the last stairway to the dungeons.

"But you won't, because you know I'll just come back on my own." Kíli couldn't keep the smug tone out of his voice and he leaned let a little more of his weight on his brother's shoulder as punishment for suggesting that they turn around. "I may fall and break my neck, and then what would you do?"

Fíli huffed in annoyance. "Get a good nights rest I'd imagine." Despite his words, they continued on without pause. "And just what do you plan to do at the end of this journey, oh Obstinate One?"

Just a few more steps would put them back on flat terrain again, and that much closer to Tauriel. Kíli tried to quicken their pace and the two nearly tumbled down the last of the steps.

"Easy there, brother," Fíli cautioned an he steadied them both.

Kíli nodded his thanks and they started off again.

"What do you think I'm going to do," Kíli answered. "I'm going to get her out."

An unfamiliar shadow filled the arched doorway leading to the dungeon proper, blade in hand gleaming in the light. "Who goes there?"

Both brothers drew themselves up to full height as they reached the nearest torch and could be seen.

"Master Fíli, Master Kíli," The guard said in surprise. He sheathed his sword and gave a quick bow. "Wha' are ya doin' 'ere?"

Fíli cut off his brother's, no doubt, colorful answer. "We've come to check on the prisoner."

A second guard joined the first scratching at his beard as he inquired, "'s a bit late for tha', ins' it?"

Losing patience fast, Kíli pushed away from his brother and, using the wall for balance, made his way past the guards. He trusted his brother to take care of the nuisance.

The cells of Erebor had been empty for many years now and dust was still thick on the bars as Kíli approached the nearest chamber. His brother's voice faded to the background as his hands wrapped around cold iron. There, sitting on a half decayed mattress, was Tauriel. She was a vision, even in her filthy surroundings. He could see her eyes light up as they found his and then dim again in terror as he sank to his knees.

She called his name and was at the cell door in an instant. The journey here had cost him much of his energy and he relished in the reprieve that sitting brought.

Kíli's smile was wide and bright as he looked at the Elf kneeling on the other side of the bars.

"You should be in bed," Tauriel admonished, as she laid her hand on the side of his face.

"How could I," he started, moving one hand to press against hers where it lay on his cheek, "when I learned that you were here?"

Kíli watched her fight a smile and delighted in it.

She pulled her hand away, but did not release his grip, settling both hands in the space between them. "I am fine. And it is only in the night when there are fewer eyes to watch over me."

Kíli's smile dimmed. "You shouldn't need to be watched at all."

Tauriel tilted her head. "I understood the conditions when I entered the mountain, and I agreed to them."

"But that was Dáin's bargain." Kíli could feel the anger at this injustice rising within him. "Has Thorin had nothing to say on this matter since then?"

Tauriel began to respond but stopped and spoke to the Dwarf behind him instead. "The king is on his way, I presume?"

It was Fíli who stood behind him and answered in the affirmative. "Your jailers have run to wake the mountain. It is no small thing that you are awake brother." He smirked at the pair kneeling hand in hand. "I'm to be your guard for now, so no funny business."

Kíli nodded, ignoring the jibe, before turning back to Tauriel. "Thorin will fix this," he promised her. "There is no reason for you to be jailed like an enemy when you are the furthest thing from it. You do not belong in here. He will understand."

Tauriel gripped his hand tighter for a moment but there was doubt in her eyes.

Fíli shuffled to the nearest wall and leaned upon it to take a bit of the weight off of his leg. "Don't mind me," he waved a hand at his brother, "Shouldn't you be waxing poetic by now?"

Kíli shot his brother a look of bewilderment. "What?" He looked back to Tauriel for an explanation and was surprised to see a blush stain her cheeks.

"It would seem that your tongue gets away from you," she spoke quietly, as though divulging a great secret, "when you are delirious."

Kíli gave her his most charming smile, the one that never failed to raise a blush on the maids of Ered Luin. "Oh?"

She smiled softly and looked at him through her lashes. "That's twice now. Will you always need to be out of your mind to spin me such sweet words?" she teased.

"My Lady," he began and brought her hand up to lay a kiss on her palm, "I would spend the rest of my days on the edge of delirium if it would but make you smile."

Fíli groaned but the two only had eyes for each other.

Kíli pressed their joined hands against his heart. "Kurduê (My heart)."

For a moment, he was certain she was about to respond in kind, but instead Tauriel pulled away and he could see her closing herself off. Kíli feared that he had pushed for too much, too quickly. Her eyes flickered to the doorway and she stood back from the bars. It was then that Kíli could just begin to hear the sounds of booted feet on the stairs and he sent one her one more soft look in the hopes of laying to rest whatever fears those steps had brought.

Kíli struggled to rise and Fíli pushed from the wall to help him. Both were standing, shoulder to shoulder and heads held high as Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, made his entrance. Even in a night robe their uncle still carried a regal bearing and they dipped their heads to him as he drew near.

"Kíli, it is good to see you awake," Thorin allowed a small smile, "but could you not have waited until the morning to seek out new trouble?" He laid a hand upon Kíli's shoulder before pulling the young Dwarf into an embrace.

Kíli grunted at the impact but returned the grasp just as tightly. "Sorry, but this could not wait until the morrow," he insisted, pulling away to face the elder Dwarf once more. "There has been a mistake."

Thorin heaved a great sigh and paced away from his nephews. When he turned Kíli could see that his uncle was not of a like mind. "I know what you will ask, and the answer is no."

Righteous indignation rendered Kíli mute before he began to stutter in denial. "How can you- I don't understand- you can't be serious!"

Thorin shook his head and made his way back to them. "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter."

A considerable racket could be heard approaching, but Kíli had no care for what the noise might bring. "Now is the only time to discuss this," he insisted, "Tell me, why must Tauriel reside in the dungeon?"

Thorin glared down at his nephew. "Is it not enough that your king commands it?"

A pile of Dwarf bodies filled the doorway as a mixture of familiar faces and new stumbled to a halt. Those of Thorin's Company were eager to greet their newly healed comrade and those of Dáin's men were curious to see what the excitement was about, but none wanted to enter when they saw the scene playing out before them. Kíli spared a glance at his friends before scowling once more at his uncle. "This is how you would repay one who has saved the life of your kin?"

A buzzing could be heard from the onlookers, gasps and grumbles. Fíli spoke up to head off the clash that was brewing. "Does the light of the sun truly make a difference in a mountain?"

The look Thorin sent towards Fíli would have pierced Mithril and the blond Dwarf lowered his eyes.

Kíli could see that he had lost his ally but was determined not to back down. "This is wrong and you know it."

Thorin turned to him again, "Do not presume to tell me what I know, boy."

There was another clatter from the hall and Dáin appeared next, pushing his way through the masses. "Wha's the meaning o' this?" He demanded.

Thorin's eyes closed for a moment in agitation before he turned to address the irate Dwarf. "My nephews were just about to return to their beds."

"Well that's not going to happen," Kíli responded immediately and he heard Fíli groan in exasperation beside him.

Tauriel spoke up for the first time since they had been interrupted. "I will be fine," she moved back to the bars and lowered her voice. "Kíli, go. It will be sunrise soon enough and the matter will wait until then."

Dáin spoke up again, "She's _my_ prisoner and I'll thank you to remember tha'."

"She is _my_ prisoner as she is in _my_ dungeon." Thorin's voice boomed throughout the long hall, "All of you, OUT! Back to your beds."

Fíli took hold of Kíli's arm to help him on the journey back, but Kíli shook off his brother's hand.

"I am NOT leaving her here!" he planted his feet and tried not to ruin the effect by wobbling.

No one made a move to leave as they all waited to see what would happen next.

"Dwalin," Thorin called, "Would you escort my young nephew back to his bed?" His tone was courteous, as if he had not just been yelling a moment before. "It seems he is still out of sorts and not thinking clearly."

The large Dwarf gave Bofur and tap and a nod and both broke free from the crowd. Kíli looked on wide eyed as they brushed past Dáin to hook one of his arms each. He ignored Bofur's soft entreaty to leave and tried to break away from them. He could tell that the two larger Dwarves were trying to be careful with him and he fought all the harder for it, a roar of anger tearing from his throat. It was not until he heard Tauriel's voice again that he paused in his efforts.

"An ngell nîn, Mell Nín (Please, My Beloved). Go with them." Kíli looked up to see the Elf pressed to the bars, her normally stoic features were twisted in distress. "Do not hurt yourself struggling."

The fight drained out of Kíli and he allowed the two Dwarves to drag him away. He held Tauriel's gaze until he was pulled out of sight.

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><p>AN: The literal translation for 'An ngell nîn' is 'for my joy'. All Sindarin and Khuzdul words are courtesy of Google and more time than I will admit to spending on research. If you catch a mistake, please let me know.

Also, I have only watched each movie once and at the time of release, so I have had to rely solely on the clips that I can find on Youtube. Again, if I make a mistake, you know what to do.


	3. Chapter 2

Dwarves have always been known to be resilient creatures, but Fíli was certainly feeling his lack of sleep as he trudged through the Lonely Mountain. Though he had returned to the cot beside Kíli the night before, his brother had not stop railing at the injustice of the world long enough for either of them to find rest. The thought of a full bed and a quiet room had almost been enough to drive the blond Dwarf to break the promise that he had made. That first day, before the sun had set and the Wood Elf had been escorted to her cell, he and she had made a pact; that she would watch over Kíli while he was away helping to clear the battlefield, and he would stay by his brother at night, when she would be unable to do so. It had been surprisingly easy for him to accept her presence in Erebor after he had seen how much his brother meant to the She-Elf.

As he made his way now to Thorin's chambers, Fíli wondered on what it would take to convince the other Dwarves to accept her as well. It was clear to him that she would not be leaving his brother's side by her own will, and he did not like the thought of his brother leaving if she were not permitted to stay. He had purposely set out early that morning to avoid the ruckus Kíli was bound to make when he first saw Tauriel outside of her cell. He had no doubt that his brother would be outraged to see the Elf in shackles and chains.

Fíli slowed as he reached his destination, trying to arrange the thoughts in his head to best suit his purpose. From the other side of the door, muffled voices could be heard. Though he had been raised better than to eavesdrop, when he heard his brother's name, Fíli lowered his raised hand and cracked the doors open a sliver to better hear what was being said.

"Let the boy have his fun. He'll soon grow out of it."

Fíli's brows rose at the sound of Balin's voice and he smiled at the thought of another ally in his endeavour.

Thorin gave a doubtful laugh before answering. "It is not as simple as you would make it seem, old friend." His voice, though soft, still carried through the doors. "I may be King by right, but my hold on this mountain is tenuous at best. Until the caravans from Ered Luin begin to arrive, Dáin and his kinsmen still out number us. Now is not the time for me to show weakness."

Fíli frowned and Balin's voice was a reflection of that sentiment. "Have we come so far, that now kindness is seen as weakness?"

Footsteps in the distance alerted Fíli that he was soon to be found lurking and he knocked on the doors before pushing his way through. The two were stood by the room's large hearth and both sets of eyes rose to meet his as he entered the room.

Balin moved away from Thorin and towards the door. He stopped as he reached Fíli and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Perhaps you'll have a bit more luck, laddy."

Both nephew and uncle waited until the chamber was sealed again before speaking. "I've come-"

"I know why you have come," Thorin cut him short. "What I want to know is why you think that you may speak for your brother, now that he is awake and may speak for himself."

Fíli lifted his head high, trying to project a confidence that he did not entirely feel. "I thought perhaps if you knew all that had transpired before the battle, you would rethink your decision about Tauriel." Fíli held his breath. How Thorin responded next would determine if there was any chance of swaying his uncle.

Thorin turned to rest an arm on the mantle and gazed into the fire. If Fíli had not known the man better, he would have wondered if he was being dismissed. At length the older Dwarf faced him once more and nodded for him to proceed.

"You know that she saved his life in Lake-town," Thorin nodded again and Fíli continued. "Did you know that she defied her king to be there? And that she has been banished for it?" He was pleased to see that revelation draw a reaction from his uncle, small though it may have been. "If you choose to exile her from the mountain as well, it is not to the forests of Mirkwood that she would return, but much farther. I believe whole heartedly that my brother would follow her."

Thorin acknowledged his words and, after a moment, spoke. "It is not in the nature of Dwarves to forgive so easily, and there is much that the Elves have to be forgiven for. Even amongst our own Company there are those who would be happy to see the She-Elf gone."

"They will learn," Fíli urged, "as I have learned."

Thorin's look was not convinced. He drew his hands behind his back and paced the length of his chamber in slow steps. "And you would dismiss Dáin and his clan so quickly? They are not so reasonable as the Dwarves of Erebor."

"I would have them see reason," Fíli spoke with conviction, "or I would have them withdraw."

Thorin spun on his heel and Fíli realized that he had made a mistake.

"Then you would lose us this mountain," Thorin's voice thundered around the room. He lowered his volume but not his intensity. "We have dreamed of retaking our home from afar, but those of the Iron Hills have watched dragon smoke curling from Dwarven halls for just as long. They have not traveled as you and I have traveled. They have not mingled with the other races for trade and survival. They will not understand."

"But why does it matter," Fíli pressed. He would not lose his brother to the stubbornness of others, kin or no kin. "Dáin is not king here, and his people have their own home. Why are they even still here?"

Thorin dismissed him with a wave. "That is not for you and I to discuss. I will take care of Dáin. There is other business to be attended to."

Fíli fought the urge to persist in his argument, knowing that it would be futile.

Accepting his silence as acquiescence, Thorin began pacing again. "Though our cousins from the Iron Hills have been gracious enough," the last was said with a sneer, "to stay and help us rebuild, I believe it would be wise for us to reach out to the Men of Dale. They have the numbers that we do not, but lack the skills that we have in abundance." He turned and Fíli met his uncle's gaze from across the room. "I would have you take as many of Dáin's men as he can spare and go to Dale. Find the Lord Bard and offer our services to him." There was more to this than Thorin was letting on, Fíli was sure of it. "You will bring with you the treasure that we had agreed upon in Lake Town and tools enough for our men and theirs. In exchange, we ask only that should the need arise, the Men of Dale will stand with the Son's of Durin."

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><p>The stairs to the dungeon were much more easy for Fíli to navigate while not carrying the weight of his brother. Though the light of day never reached this far into the mountain, more lamps had been lit to give the effect of daylight. He nodded to the guard as he passed; another of the Iron Hill Dwarves, and not one that he recognized. It was strange to be surrounded day-by-day with new faces after having been with only the same few for the last five months.<p>

He clasped his hands behind his back as he approached the only occupied cell, allowing his gait to slow to a swagger despite his lingering limp.

"Lovely day, isn't it," he asked his brother.

Kíli glared up at him from where he sat on his bunk.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed," he continued on, ignoring the glower he was receiving, "but you seem to be on the wrong side of the bars."

Still Kíli remained silent, unmoving except to follow the other Dwarf with his eyes.

Fíli sighed theatrically and shook his head. "And here I thought that you wanted to be closer to your Lady Elf. Now she is up there and you are down here." He paused, but when no response came, began again. "Of course, she'll be back with the setting of the sun, but do you plan to woo her from across a hall and through two sets of iron bars?"

The younger Dwarf stood and crossed the cell in three strides. Fíli was comforted to see that his brother was much more steady on his legs now than he had been the night before.

"You lied to me," Kíli accused, hands gripped tightly to the bars in front of him. "You told me she was free to roam the mountain during the day. Not be collared and leashed like some feral dog."

The easy smile slipped from Fíli's face and he pushed aside the guilt that his brother's words had invoked. "I never said that she was free. Only that she helps with the wounded." He danced back a step when Kíli took a swing at him.

"Am I the only sane one left in this accursed mountain?" Kíli restored his grip on the cell door and deflated. He rested his forehead against the bars. "Do you see nothing at all wrong with what is happening here?"

Fíli's eyes flickered to the doorway, checking for listening ears, before stepping closer to his brother once more. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I see many things wrong here, more so than you know. I'm only just now beginning to understand the scope of it." He closed his hands around the cold iron under his brother's grip. "I need you to listen closely." He paused long enough to be sure that his brother understood the weight of his words. "I am being sent to Dale and am to bring a number of Dáin's men with me." He rushed on before the other Dwarf could interject. "There is more to this than a single Elf residing in Erebor. I fear that this mountain is not the safe haven that it should be."

Kíli kept his voice just as hushed as his brother's had been, and for that Fíli was grateful. "I don't understand. What is going on?"

He cast his eyes once more to the doorway. "Just keep your eyes open and try to not to cause anymore trouble while I'm gone." His tone lifted in fond exasperation. "If you are even capable of that." Through the bars, he ruffled his brother's hair as he had done when they were both children.

Kíli batted his hand away, just as always, and Fíli felt his heart clench for a moment. It was only by the grace of Mahal that the two had survived that terrible battle. Sitting beside his brother's unwaking form had been hard, but it was in this moment that he truly began to realize just how close he had come to losing his brother.

The two clasped forearms through the bars and Fíli touched his brow to the iron in a reflection of the younger Dwarf. "Be safe, little brother." He cracked a grin. "Don't go picking anymore fights with Dáin's men."

Kíli answered him with a cheeky smile of his own. "Next time I won't be fresh from a sick bed." His smile took on a more dangerous edge. "Next time, I'll win."

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><p>The bunk beneath Kíli was tattered and moth ridden. Still, he reflected, it was better than the stone slabs used for benches in the cells of Mirkwood. He still had not decided if he preferred the constant sounds of falling water or the ever present silence that surrounded him now. His eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling above him and he had the fleeting thought that his staying in dungeon cells was, perhaps, not the best of habits to make.<p>

Heavy boots on stone stairs alerted him to the approach of another Dwarf. Not Ori, whose steps were much lighter, or Nori, whose steps were near silent. Dwalin and Bofur had both already been by; the first to try 'to talk sense' into him, and the second, to help pass the time. He turned his head to see the new comer, not bothering to sit up.

He did not have long to wait before the imposing figure of Thorin came into view, keys in hand. As the cumbersome door swung open Kíli finally raised himself upright.

His uncle stood filling the doorway, blue robes regal across his shoulders, and the crown upon his head reflecting the torchlight. He paused for but a moment before stepping back and gesturing with his hand. "Out."

The younger Dwarf made no move to do as he was commanded.

"Enough of this ridiculousness." As Kíli had made it obvious that he had no intention of leaving the cell, Thorin entered it fully. "We need you fit and whole, not rotting away behind bars."

Careful not to move too quickly, Kíli stood to face his uncle. "Easy enough. Put an end to this insult and accept Tauriel into the mountain as the ally that she is." He held his uncles gaze, hard and unrelenting.

Thorin did not waver, he stood as tall and proud as the statues standing guard outside of Erebor. "After all that has passed between our peoples it is gratitude alone that permits that Elf to reside under this mountain and not in a shallow grave."

Kíli fought down the instinct that called for him to lash out on her behalf. "How many times must she save my life before you will be able to see past the mistakes of her people?" He tried to think as Fíli would think, to reason as his brother would reason. "If not gratitude, Uncle, then mercy. For my sake, let her stay."

The elder Dwarf took a step forward to tower over his nephew in the small space. "You play a dangerous game, Sister's Son. You would have me call our former jailer a guest."

With a steady gaze, Kíli held his ground. "I would have you call my savior your friend. She is my star, and my life is hers. And if she is to be your prisoner, then so shall I."

Thorin closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "She is as foolish as you are. No one holds that Elf here against her will." Kíli raised a brow in surprise but did not interrupt. "She asked to stay and so she has, but I'll not allow one of Thranduil's ilk to roam my halls freely."

Silence settled between the two and Kíli came fast to a decision. "Then let us leave here together." His voice grew in strength as he continued. "If you cannot give us your blessing under the mountain, perhaps you could wish us good journey."

Thorin's eyes searched his nephew's for a long and silent moment before his face softened and he cradled his hand to the back of Kíli's head. The young Dwarf could feel himself respond in kind, and hope welled within him. There had never been question of the bond between Thorin and his nephews, and Kíli hoped that it would be enough for him to win this new war. The next words were said quietly, as one might speak to a child. "You are still recovering. You will see reason again when your mind is less addled."

Kíli's face shuttered and he stepped away from his uncle and out of his grip. "I know my mind. I know my heart, and I'll not feign contentment while you parade her around in chains." For the first time in his life he turned his back to his uncle. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

It took everything in him not to turn back and beg pardon. There was a heavy sigh and Kíli ignored the pain behind it. He heard the door close, but not the turn of the lock. He kept himself as frozen as a sunlit troll until the sound of boot steps faded into the distance, only then did he allow his legs to buckle and the weight of what he had just done to settle upon him.

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><p>AN:

I'm basing the time it took to get from The Shire to the Lonely Mountain on Wikepedia's Time Line of Arda. The journey from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain took five months, including weeks spent as Thranduil's prisoner.

I recently came back to Tumblr if anyone is interested. My name is Isileil.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: There is maybe a bit of Bagginshield in this chapter, if you tilt your head and squint.

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><p>The trek back through the mountain was longer for Thorin than his descent had been. His attention caught briefly on a side corridor still blocked by rubble, and he made a mental note to add it to the growing list of repairs. Now that the dead had mostly been cleared from the battlefield and the Front Gate had been repaired, it was time to turn their focus to the inside of the Lonely Mountain.<p>

He thought back over the confrontation with Kíli, and fought the urge to rub at the bandages wrapped around his chest. The pain he felt physically did not detract from the pain brought on by the growing distance with his nephew, neither of which could be healed quickly. It would be weeks yet, at best, before the first caravan would arrive from the Blue Mountains. Perhaps less, if his sister had her way. Until then, the King Under the Mountain could do nothing but bide his time. He only hoped that his youngest nephew could forgive him.

Thorin came upon the Gallery of the Kings, newly dubbed the Golden Gallery, and a familiar feeling of shame overtook him. He knew that should he ever begin to fear the Dragon Sickness to be taking hold of him once more, he had only to gaze upon the reflection under his feet to be brought back to himself. It was a constant reminder of how far he had fallen. He paused to observe the restorations taking place on the entrance to the forges and was impressed by how much had already been done. He could appreciate the help of the Iron Hills clan, but would be happy to see them go; if that time ever came. His cousin, Dáin, was a good man, and a great leader for his people, but the Dwarves of the Iron Hills had been isolated for too long. Thorin feared that it was only a matter of time before their clashing ideals, of what it meant to be a Dwarf and a king, would come to a head. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles. His nephew would almost certainly make sure that the conflict would be sooner rather than later.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice calling out to him.

"Was' this I hear of one of your nephews attackin' my cousin's boy?"

Thorin turned to the approaching figure of Dáin, his face impassive. "I believe it had something to do with your request of how the She-Elf should be treated." He kept his voice level, despite his growing irritation. "My nephew disagreed with your method and took it upon himself to rectify the situation. Your cousin's son was unfortunate enough to be the one holding the keys."

Dáin shook his head in bewilderment. "Wha' tha' boy needs is'a good whippin'. Pu' his head back on straigh'."

Thorin ignored the impulse to walk away. Dáin would surely take it as an insult and that would do him no favors. "My nephew will be finishing his recovery in a dungeon cell until such a time that he and I can come to an agreement."

He turned back to the repairs and felt a swift moment of longing for a time when he, himself, could work with hammer and anvil. There was something to be said for the simplicity of hard work and a long day, to be able to see what his own hands had crafted and take pride in his work. If not for the fussing of Óin and Balin, he would have been tempted to join the workers right then and there. The thought was a fleeting one and he let it go without regret. Thorin, son of Thrain, had been born to rule this mountain, to protect his people, and he would do just that.

Once more, Dáin's voice cut across his thoughts.

"Have you given any though' tha' it migh' no' be a spell?" Thorin turned to the other Dwarf with a raised brow. "Those twiggy cowards are a tricky lot. You can never be too careful." Dáin met his gaze as he continued. "You know as well as I; the only way ta lift an enchantment is ta kill the witch tha' cast it. If I'd but known, I'd've saved you this trouble from the beginnin' and ended the Elf-witches life meself."

Thorin could feel a pounding begin in his skull and forced himself not to pinch the bridge of his nose. "If I had believed magic to be the cause of this, it would have been dealt with by now. No, my nephew is himself in his decision."

The two stood in silence for a moment and merely observed the work being done. Once, this mountain had been a beacon for his people, and someday it would be again. Thorin would make sure of that.

"This never would'a happened if it weren't for tha' overgrown worm." Dáin shook his head in disgust. "Dwarves should stay in Dwarven burrows and leave the minglin' to the mongrels. Too much time spent amongst outsiders poisons the young." His tone was sorrowful and rubbed like sandstone at Thorin's frayed nerves. "'Tis a shame, really."

The dark haired Dwarf considered his words carefully before next he spoke, weighing in his mind the benefits of holding this conversation now as opposed to at a later date. "There is much, also, that can be gained from the other races. We would not hold this mountain now, if not for the help of a Hobbit."

"Aye," his cousin agreed, "they certainly have their purpose, bu' they'll never be one o' us."

Thorin faced the larger Dwarf fully, and though he was the smaller of the two, he was no less commanding for it. "Bilbo Baggins is not a tool to be used. He is a hero to all that shall ever come to reside in Erebor and his name shall not be long forgotten." On this, he would not falter. "He is, and ever shall be, my friend."

Dáin's brow drew down in confusion to Thorin's reaction and he stared hard at the king for a long moment. "Aye," he acknowledged at last, "bu' a Halfling an' an Elf are as far apar' as far can be."

This was a dangerous precipice for him to walk, and Thorin knew it. He could feel what little time he had left slipping away and he considered his options carefully. If he were to agree with Dáin and drop the matter, more time could be bought, but at the expense of his nephew. If he were to push the issue further, he could lose the support of the majority of the Dwarves currently residing in the Lonely Mountain.

He held his ground and spoke only the truth. "I have no love for Thranduil and his kind, there is no secret in that. But the Elf in this mountain is no longer of his people. She has been banished, by the Elf-king himself, for her defiance. The result of which has saved my nephew's life. It is no wonder that he is soft on her when he owes her so much."

Dáin tsked and waved a hand dismissively. "Those Leaf Eaters are all the same. Ya can'na trust 'em. They're always up ta something." His eyes widened with a thought. "I'd wager her so called banishment to be nothing but a ruse; get her past our doors." Thorin could see the wheels turning in the other Dwarves head. "Oh, but tha's clever."

"Both of my nephews owe their lives to an Elf." The king shook his head. "If not for the arrow of the Elf-king's son, we would be building a tomb right now, rather than rebuilding a kingdom." With a deep sigh, he crossed the precipice. "I am reluctant to say this, but perhaps not all of the Woodland Realm are as heartless as their king."

Dáin let out a hearty laugh, but cut it short when Thorin did not join in. "You mus' be jokin'." The ginger Dwarf shot him a dubious glance. "You should maybe have your healer check tha' head o' yours again. You're talkin' nonsense."

Thorin stood tall, shoulders back, head held high, and waited to see what conclusion his cousin would reach. He did not have long to wait.

The larger Dwarf's lips pulled back in revulsion. "Or has your time in exile made you soft?" Dáin sneered. "You'd disregard the crimes of those woodland sprites, and all because your two nephews can'na look after themselves?" His voice continued to rise and his face was turning an alarming shade of puce. "Wha's next? Pointy eared body guards for the wee little princelings?"

"You go too far, cousin." Thorin's voice was calm but every muscle in his body was tense.

Dáin was near shaking with rage. "We came when you had need of us, ta defend this mountain from those shaikul bintarg abnathukrâf (cowardly beardless oath-breakers). I didn'a lose good warriors and better friends jus' for you ta give it to 'em."

Thorin swallowed down his rage, though it was a near thing. Through gritted teeth, he spoke. "Allowing a single Elf to live in the halls of _my_ kingdom is hardly handing it over." It would seem that he did not need Kíli's assistance after all, to bring this conflict to its pinnacle.

His cousin shook his head and looked long at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're no' the same man tha' I remember."

"I was but a child back then." Before life had made him weary and wise; before the dragon had come. "Much about the world has changed."

Dáin stepped back from him. "I fear it is a change no' for the better." With that, he turned and stormed away.

Thorin could only hope that he had not just doomed himself, his kingdom, and worst of all, his nephews, to a life in exile once more.

* * *

><p>Had Fíli known where Dáin had just come from, he may have avoided the Dwarf all together. As it was, the young prince had been seeking out his uncle's cousin and had found the man storming the halls and ranting like a mad man. By the time he had recognized his error it was too late, as the older Dwarf had caught sight of him. He almost reached for his sword on instinct, as the large mass of armored ginger bore down upon him.<p>

"Wha' happened on tha' journey o' yours tha' would cause your uncle to lose him mind?!"

Fíli could only stare wide-eyed for a moment before he blinked up at the Dwarf looming over him and raised a single brow. "It could have been the barrels. I know it'll be a long time before I can stand the smell of apples again." The other man drew back with a look of bewilderment. "Have you ever ridden down a river in a wine barrel? It's enough to rattle anyone, even without the orcs shooting at us from the river bank."

Perhaps Dáin had been expecting an argument and not an honest answer. Fíli was nearly knocked over by a slap to his back as the Dwarf Lord let loose a howling laugh.

His confusion over Dáin's anger was cleared up when the other man continued. "Did ya know the king is considering letting that Elf-witch live here freely?" He had not believed that Thorin could be swayed so quickly. Seeing the reaction his uncle's consideration of the matter had brought on, Fíli was beginning to understand the other man's reluctance.

His shock of the news must have shown on his face, and he was thankful that Dáin misread it. "Tha's right. I could'na believe it either." A large, meaty hand was wrapped around Fíli's shoulder and he found himself walking down the corridor beside his uncle's cousin. "You're a good lad, if a bit young and flimsy, maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"Of course." He nodded and thought fast. Of himself and his brother, Fíli had always been the planner, the one to think three steps ahead. "It is probably for the best to avoid the conflict such an action would bring. To offer sanctuary to one who has been banished by Thranduil would only anger the Elf-king. You are right to want to err on the side of caution."

Dáin's great face scrunched up in distaste as that new thought sank in. "Righ'," his voice was less confident and trailed off. Their steps slowed to a stop. "But tha's no'-"

Fíli cut him off. "I was just on my way to find you, actually, to thank you for allowing you're men to accompany me to Dale." A swift change of subject was just what he needed to keep the other Dwarf on unsteady footing. He stepped out from under Dáin's arm and faced him formally. "They're very skilled and dedicated to their work. I'm sure the restoration of the town will take no time at all."

"Bu'-"

He bowed to the Dwarf Lord. "And I'll be sure to speak to Thorin about your fears before I go. Don't you worry." He left the other man standing in the middle of the corridor, looking a bit lost and confused as to what had just happened. Fíli, however, couldn't keep the smile from his face or the bounce from his step.

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><p>When Kíli was brought before Thorin that evening, he was not sure if it was to his uncle he was being taken, or to his king. Either way, he hardly knew what to expect. He relaxed a measure as they passed the hall that would lead to the throne, glad that he would not be looking up at his uncle on a dais. The room they eventually stopped in was lit by a low fire and evenly spaced lanterns, giving the space a warm and welcoming glow. Though the chamber had been cleaned of dust and cobwebs, it was clear that sorting through the books and parchments that cluttered the area would take a bit more time. His uncle was sat at a large, ornate desk, and Kíli wondered vaguely if the documents he was perusing were from current events or from centuries past.<p>

As the seconds ticked by and neither he nor his guard were acknowledged, the younger Dwarf wrenched his arm free of the grip that held it and glared at his captor, silently daring him to make a grab at him again. When his jailer made to do just that, Thorin's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Leave us."

The Iron Hills Dwarf hesitated a moment before stepping back with a bow and turning to exit. He shot Kíli a nasty scowl as he pulled the door shut behind him.

His uncle looked up from his papers for the first time and the shadows cast by the fire highlighted the darkening circles beneath the king's eyes. He felt a rush of shame, knowing that he was in part to blame for the stress upon his uncle. If it were just for himself, he would have begged the man to forget the matter entirely, but he would not allow Tauriel to continue to be treated as she was.

Thorin gestured to a small table and chairs sat near the hearth. "Sit," he ordered. Kíli glanced to the table and was tempted by the plate of food that sat there, but he would not be so easily bought. His uncle closed his eyes when Kíli made no move, and sighed deeply. When he opened them again and spoke, his voice held less of an order and more of a request. "Sit and eat, and we shall talk after."

After a moment of indecision, the young Dwarf found himself seated before a platter of steaming food and a tankard of frothy ale. His belly rumbled from just the smell of it and he cast one last glance to his uncle before tucking in. He had been given only soft bread and thin broth since he had woken and his stomach both rejoiced and rebelled at the hearty food. When he had eaten his fill, he pushed the plate away and found his uncle watching him over steepled fingers.

The other Dwarf rose from his seat behind the desk to join Kíli at the table. The two stared at one another until eventually Thorin broke the silence. "You would give up your birthright, your right to succession, after having fought so hard to regain it? And all for a woman?"

He held his uncle's gaze and hoped that his words would not fail him. "I would spend the rest of my days with her, where ever that may be."

Thorin lifted a single eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "You speak as if you would pledge yourself to her."

"If she would have me." Kíli took a deep, steadying breath and braced himself for the worst.

His uncle crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "An Elf and a Dwarf. Have you thought this through at all?" He continued without pausing for an answer. "You have only known of one another for a matter of weeks, the majority of which you spent as her prisoner. What do you even know of her to make you speak this way?"

"I know everything that I need to know, and I can spend the rest of my life learning the rest." At his uncle's skeptical look, he rushed to prove himself. "I know that she is as dangerous as she is beautiful, and her aim with a bow is as true as her heart. I know that she has always longed to travel, but has been confined to the borders of her homeland; that she would stand up to anyone for what she believes is right." His voice grew in strength and he leaned forward as he went on. "I know that when I see her my heart sings, and that I have never felt this way before about another. I know that she has lost her home just as we have regained ours, and I'll not see her face that alone." He lowered his voice again. "She has risked her life for me, given up her people for me, and I would do the same in return. If you will not welcome her here, I'll not suffer her to stay. She and I will leave."

His uncle stared hard at him in silence. At last the older Dwarf uncrossed his arms and leaned forward as well. "What you speak of is infatuation mixed with gratitude. You are simply too young to know the difference."

Kíli bristled. "Not so young that you would turn me away when you set out for this mountain. I have nearly lost my life countless times on this journey, and I would do it all again." He sent his uncle a challenging look. "I stood with you, against all odds, to help you regain your treasure. Would you not stand with me now for mine?"

Thorin shoved the empty dishes aside and leaned further onto the table. "Even if she should be accepted by our kin, it would still be a troubled road to tread; for the both of you."

The young Dwarf waved away his uncle's worries. "We would make it work."

Thorin raised a brow in challenge. "Setting aside the differences in our cultures, have you given thought to what it would mean for a Wood Elf to live under a mountain? Do you think that she would truly be happy here, without her trees, without her stars?" Thorin sat back once again as he spoke. "And what of your age? You are young now, but think, boy. In a hundred years, in two, will she still look at you the same? As you lay on your death bed, old and wasting away, she will not have aged a day." He shook his head. "You would do better to find a Dwarf bride. To settle and have a family that will not cause you as much sorrow as it does joy."

Kíli fought the doubt that his uncle's words provoked. Perhaps he was too young and stubborn, but he would not be swayed. "My heart first beat for her as I stood covered in spider's silk. Mahal himself could not divide me from her."

Thorin sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "I will assign you custody of our prisoner. You may grant her whatever freedoms that you deem fit." Kíli's face shifted to a dumbfounded stare and then a wide smile, but his uncle spoke again before he could find the words to express his gratitude. "Do not thank me yet. She will be your responsibility and she should betray us, I will not be able to shield you from the consequences."

Kíli could hardly hold himself together, he was so overwhelmed with happiness. "You have nothing to worry about, I promise. Everything will be just fine.

Thorin gave his nephew an indulgent smile and rose to fetch a parchment from his desk. "Let it not be said that I do not recognize when a debt is owed." He handed the paper to Kíli who was surprised to see the order already printed. "And anyone who would stand against Thranduil is an ally of Erebor."

Kíli chuckled at that. Too excited to sit still any longer he bade his uncle goodnight and took hurried steps to the door. Before he could reach the opening, he was stopped one last time.

"And Kíli, this mountain has room enough. Our new guest should have her own quarters, I do not expect that you'll need to share."

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><p>AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who was reviewed, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos. Every time I feel myself getting overwhelmed by this story I think of all of you and keep going. One chapter at a time, *sigh* one chapter at a time.

A/N 2: I had thought that Dáin was a very small Dwarf until I watched Thorin's battle charge again and saw them next to each other. It would seem that his War Hog is just immensely huge. Also, he is really hard to write. He wreaks havoc on my spell checker. Blarg.


	5. Chapter 4

When the doors to the Hall of Healing were thrown open, and Kíli came stumbling in as if a pack of Wargs were at his heels, Tauriel's first instinct was to drop the tray in her hands and reach for her daggers. As there were no actual giant wolves chasing him, nor did she have a weapon on her person, she found the nearest flat surface to empty her chained hands and rushed to his side. She approached the Dwarf and took stock of what she could see of him; flushed cheeks, bright eyes, heavy breathing. The Elf stretched out a hand to check him for fever, but he caught her mid-reach and brushed his lips along her knuckles with a smile.

Her pleas to let her check him over were swept away with a wink and a shake of his head. His gaze moved past her to where she knew her ever present shadow to be and with her hand still in his, he led her in that direction. They paused in front of her guard only long enough to swap the parchment in his hands for the keys to her chains and it was minutes later that the two were out in the hall, only now she was free of her bonds. She begged him again; to slow, to stop, to let her check his bandages. She was terrified that he would hurt himself in his hurry, but more afraid that she would cause him harm if she were to resist.

Still huffing, and no less flushed, Kíli led her to what looked to be a random door. He paused only briefly before he pushed the door open and, never once releasing her grip, backed his way into the room. Tauriel took in her surroundings with a glance, more interested in watching the man before her. It was an empty bedroom, furnished, but with no signs of being occupied, and she wondered at the excitement on his face.

His smile grew impossibly wide and Tauriel found her worries forgotten with his next statement. "It's for you," he explained, taking her other hand as well.

Surprised, she looked again at the space; a dresser, a wardrobe, a vanity and chair. Her attention fixed on the bed. It was smaller than she was used to, but not so much that it would be uncomfortable; in fact, she noted, it would fit two quite easily. The thought flitted through her mind and she was glad to not have been meeting Kíli's eye at the time.

She continued her examination of the room. Someone had been by to light the lamps and place fresh linens on the mattress. There was a small furnace in one corner of the room giving off a comfortable heat, with a cushioned seat beside it. Unable to find an excuse any longer she let her gaze fall back to the Dwarf in front of her. His breathing had evened out in the time that they had been standing, and the high color had retreated from his cheeks, but a shine was still in his eyes.

She led him to the chair by the heater and bade him to sit. "Please," she implored him again. "Let me check your wound." Though he did not seem to be in distress, her fears would not be completely put to rest until she saw that all was well with her own eyes.

Tauriel was grateful when he nodded and lowered himself onto the cushion. She knelt in front of him and found herself looking up into his face for the first time. He held her gaze as he reached for the hem of his tunic, only breaking away as it went over his head. Her cheeks began to warm but she ignored the sensation. She had tended many a wounded man and woman in her years as Captain of the Guard, and had never before been effected by the site of bare skin. Elves, while strong, were generally very slight of build, but the body that was before her spoke of raw power, barely restrained, and she stared, unabashed. There was a layer of fine hair across his breast; thin, but covering the expanse; and she found her hand moving through it without remembering having given it permission.

She raised her eyes to meet his again and her breath caught at the spark of heat that she found there. She pulled her hand away, embarrassed to be so enamored, and cast her eyes to the large bandage wrapped around his middle. It was only her decades of practice that kept her fingers from fumbling on the bindings, and for that she was grateful. Kíli sat, silent and steady, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, as she unwound the clothe. His breath hitched only once, as her her hand grazed over his bare flesh. Underneath she found puckered, pink skin; scar tissue, still tender, but nearly healed.

"I'm fine." His voice, though soft, seemed loud in the space between them. "A weeks mending does wonders for a Dwarf. We're tougher than we look." He laid a hand on her cheek and she closed her eyes, letting herself turn into the caress. "Last night's weakness was nothing more than a lingering of Óin's tonic. It's quite potent."

His tone was too light and contrasted to the heaviness that had weighed her down for the past week. Tears pooled in her eyes without her consent before spilling over. She pressed her lids more tightly shut, not wanting to see the disgust on his face at her weakness. She tried to pull back, to turn away, but he pulled her fully into his embrace with strong arms and held her close, running his fingers through her hair. The ache in her chest built higher and higher at his act of kindness, and she could hold herself in check no longer. All at once the stress, the fear, the despair that she had felt over the past days came pouring forth from her in a great deluge. In her mind she could see him, pale and near lifeless; could feel the listless way his body had moved when she had taken him into her arms on Ravenhill.

She had not realized that she was speaking through her sobs until his voice answered her.

"It's all right," he murmured, "I'm alive. I didn't die. I won't leave you."

She took comfort in hearing the words from him and shame that she should need that comfort. What a poor specimen of her people she was, to be ruled so completely by her emotions. He held her until her tears ran dry and she pulled away, rubbing at her eyes with unforgiving force. A punishment, if a small one, for her shortcomings.

He pulled her hands away and, ever so gently, dried the remainder of her tears with his thumbs. "Amrâlimê, you must be gentle." The smile he gave her was tender and his heart shone from his eyes.

Her first instinct was to pull away; to retreat back into herself and try to rebuild what defenses that she could; but his gaze was so sincere, and his touch so reassuring, that she could not find it in herself to do so. She still did not know the exact translation of the foreign word, but she could guess at its meaning and it brought a warmth to her heart that could drive out any cold. With his hands still cupped to her face, Tauriel did what she should have done on the beach of the Long Lake. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his for the first time. It was a gentle kiss, sweet in its innocence and uncertainty, and in that moment all of her fears for the future and shame of the past dissipated into the ether.

The fingers of one of Kíli's hands brushed the edge of her ear as it traveled into her hair and her breath caught at the touch. He used the opportunity to deepen the kiss and her own hands found their way around him. She clutched desperately at his shoulders, and pulled their bodies flush. The solidness of his frame was a reassurance that she needed and when he broke off the kiss, and rested his forehead against hers, it was a desperate choked-off sound that escaped her.

When she was finally able to open her eyes, she could not help but to return his shy smile.

"Hello," he whispered, and she cherished the feeling of his breath across her cheek.

She would later blame it on the emotional turmoil that had just poured from her, but for the first time that she could remember, in all of her six centuries, Tauriel let loose a laugh so light and full of happiness that it could be called nothing else but a giggle. The sound was so foreign that it startled her and she covered her swollen lips as she sat back. There was no denying the blush that now spread across her being; she could feel it from the tips of her ears, down to her chest.

A heartfelt laugh erupted from Kíli and she would have been offended at being ridiculed, if she had not enjoyed the sound so much. He pulled her back to him and buried his face in her hair. She wrapped her arms around him again and wallowed in the contentment that their embrace brought to her. She took comfort in the warmth of his body and the strength that she could feel hidden just beneath his skin. A dark thought crept into her mind, one that Tauriel could not deny. No matter how strong he was he would never share in her immortality, and one day she would truly lose him. She held him all the more tightly for it.

* * *

><p>There were no words for Kíli to describe the way he felt to be alone with his love and be able to hold her in his arms. There had been a time, at the top of Ravenhill, when he had believed that a moment such as this would never happen. He had been so sure of his own demise, and in part, had been happy to follow after his brother. His only regret had been the thought of leaving Tauriel to deal with the hulking Orc who would have been the death of him. Looking back now he could see what a fool he had been for giving up. If not for the stubborn woman before him, he would not have been joining his brother as he had thought, but would have been leaving him behind instead.<p>

He pushed the thought away to focus once more on the woman in his embrace. His nose was still buried in her hair and he let himself inhale the scent of her. Perhaps it was the auburn color of her locks, but as he drew in her essence, he could see in his mind's eye autumn leaves being spun around in a whirlwind. Her breathing was even now; a comfort to him after the broken heaving Tauriel had struggled with earlier. He smoothed his hand once more down her back and a small part of his mind marveled at how someone who felt so frail could be so powerful. He wondered who would win if they were to spar. The thought sent a jolt through his veins and he pulled away from her, afraid that she would not appreciate the reaction his body had to that image.

They could not have stay wrapped around each other forever, regardless. Eventually her neck would grow stiff and uncomfortable from keeping the upturned angle, he knew this from experience. Her eyes were impossibly wide and perhaps a little lost. Kíli had always heard about the coldness of Elves, how emotionless they were, but he had seen a passion in the woman before him that would make any Dwarf proud. He could not keep the smile from his face in her presence and was more than happy when she returned it. If his Elf was feeling lost then he would do all that he could to help her find her way again.

He took both of her hands in his larger grip and rose to his feet, pulling her along with him. If he were the proper sort, he would leave her for the night and return to his own rooms. He glanced at the door in uncertainty before meeting her gaze again. Leaving was the last thing that he wanted to do but he was unsure of what expectations she would have of him. He did one court an Elf?

Tauriel squeezed his hands in her own, bringing his attention back to her. "Stay," she requested, "if only for a while longer."

Unable to deny his Lady anything, he nodded. He released her hand only long enough to redon his tunic before reclaiming it. He led her the short distance to the bed and they sat facing one another on the soft mattress.

The silence stretched out between them and Kíli blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "What is that you're wearing?" His own cheeks now held a blush at his thoughtless words, but he wouldn't deny his curiosity. The Wood Elf's usual forest colored armor had been replaced with a plain gray gown that was just barely too short.

Tauriel blinked at the sudden question before looking down at herself. "Do you not like it?" She plucked at the skirt with one hand and answered in an uncertain voice. "When it became clear that my presence here would be lingering, your uncle sent to Dale to provide me with the clothing that I would need." Her tone turned wry. "He said that he would not tolerate the stench of unwashed Elf stinking up his halls."

Kíli pushed away the irritation of his uncle's words and focused on the fact that she had been thought of at all. "He'll come around." His tone was more hopeful than convincing and he wondered for whose benefit the words were spoken. He searched his mind for a new subject, anything that would fill the air between them and give him a reason to linger. "What have I missed this last week? Where's Bilbo? I haven't seen him around at all."

Her smile told him that she knew what he was doing and she shifted back on the bed to settle herself against the pillows. "The Halfling is already on his way back home." Her tone spoke of an apology relayed second hand. "He would have stayed to see you wake, but Mithrandir was to be his guide and wizards are restless creatures."

Tauriel stretched out her arm and patted the space beside her. He didn't need to be told twice and shuffled his way next to her so that they were shoulder to shoulder. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, something he was almost afraid to ask. He took her hand back into his own and focused on that simple contact as he spoke. "Why are you here?" She stiffened beside him. He met her eyes and rushed to undo any damage his reckless words had done. "Because I love that you are, I do, but I need to know what has changed since the lake. If you are here only because you have nowhere else to go, you should know that I would still welcome you in the mountain, but you need not pretend something that is not there. If it is pity that brings you to me, then I beg you, please tell me now so that we may end it." He shifted onto his side to better face her, still propped up on the mound of pillows beneath them. "But if you feel for me, even in part, what I feel for you, I would devote the rest of my life to you and your happiness."

He could see the war inside of her playing out across her face and he could only wonder how hard it would be to speak freely of his own emotions after having lived through centuries of repression. "You do not have to answer me tonight." He brought their joined hands to his face and nuzzled the back of hers. "Did you know that Dwarves only love once?" He could see that she had not, but she made no move to speak. "You are my One, Tauriel, and I will never love another. But I would not hold you here for that reason alone. A dungeon is a dungeon, bars or no, and a prisoner is a prisoner, even if it is just of the heart."

Her eyes slid closed but she did not pull away from him. Without opening her eyes she turned towards him so that they were face to face once more, and began to speak. "I thought that you had died." He voice was soft, but full of a powerful emotion. "I thought that you had died, and I held you in my arms, and I mourned you. I have known you for barely any time at all and yet I felt your loss so keenly." She gave a shuddering sigh but still would not open her eyes. "When I realized that life still flowed within you I knew that I had been given a second chance. Not many are so lucky and I will not throw such a gift away." Finally her lids lifted and he was faced with a forest of emotion. "If Iluvatar allows it, I will stay with you until your last breath, may it be far from now, and then I will follow you."

It was spoken with the weight of a vow and Kíli felt a shiver go through him.

"Elves are much the same as Dwarves when it comes to love," she whispered. "Only once."

He felt a small smile quirk his lips. "How is it done?" At her raised eyebrows, he clarified, a blush dusting his cheeks again. "Courting, I mean. I know how I would go about things if you were a Dwarf, but..." he let the thought trail off.

She gave him a teasing smile and caressed his hand with her thumb. "There is a lot of pomp and circumstance, the meeting of families, a trading of rings, and a year of betrothal before the ceremony."

"A year," his voice was incredulous.

She huffed a laugh at his reaction and he loved the sound of it. "What is it like for your people?"

"Well we certainly don't make anyone wait a year." He wanted to honor her culture, but twelve months was a very long time. "For most Dwarves, it's usually no more than an agreement between both parties. Then it's just a matter of getting everyone together, gathering enough food and drink for family and friends, an exchange of vows and that's it."

"No tokens to exchange?" Her thumb had moved to rub circles on his palm and, even though it was a small movement, it was driving him half mad.

"Jewelry," he answered, and then forced himself to focus on his words and not her touch. "Any kind of jewelry, usually made by hand." A new thought occurred to him. "You said meeting of families. You know most of mine already and my mother should be here soon." At her stricken look her rushed to assure her, "She's going to love you. Really, you have nothing to worry about." She didn't seem at all relieved and he was reminded of his words to her the night before when he had reassured her about his uncle. He dismissed the thought out right. His mother had always been the more level headed of the siblings. "Am I going to meet your family as well?"

A pained expression flitted across her face, but it was the look of an old wound. "I have been alone in this world for many centuries now. The closest to kin that I have is my dear friend, Prince Legolas." The pain on her face this time was fresh and raw. "I do not know if I will ever see him again."

There were no words of comfort that he could give to her. He brushed his free hand along her face hoping that his touch might be enough. He hated that she should feel such anguish, and that he was, at least in part, to blame. It was one more reason for him to loathe the Prince of the Woodland Realm. Kíli inhaled a deep breath and released his anger with it. Holding a grudge against one that Tauriel would consider her kin would only hurt her in the end. "We have time," he comforted her. "You and I will have to come to a compromise on this year business, but we have time. Perhaps things will change and you will have your friend at your side once again." She gave him a weak smile but neither agreed nor argued. "Thorin is reaching out to the Men of Dale," he persisted, "perhaps it is not so far to think that a peace can be found between our two peoples as well."

Her smile was much more heartfelt and he was lost at the sight. If she had asked him to dance the night away with the Elven prince, it would have been done, so long is it would bring her pleasure.

Hand-in-hand the two talked into the night, and when sleep finally came for them, they were wrapped in each other's arms again, him propped on a pillow and her resting against his chest. He knew, in the moment before he finally drifted off, that if every night were to end in the same, he would spend the rest of his life a very happy Dwarf.

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter was almost utter crap and you have my husband to thank for catching it. Originally this chapter and the next were one long one, but it was rushed and didn't flow properly. He encouraged me to split them and expand and that is exactly what I did. I'm much happier with the result, though this could use a bit more polish, but I only have an hour before it's time to post. So, no Figrid this time, but all Figrid next time.

A/N: Also, I tend to use the time when I update to fix any editing in previous chapters. I'm not sure how update alerts work for that, so apologies to anyone who is getting 4 or 5 alerts per chapter, hehehe.


	6. Chapter 5

The next day broke clear and bright, and Fíli was ready to set out long before his brother was up to see him off. Though he would have liked to have said goodbye before leaving, he was glad to have avoided delicate explanations. His steps as the entourage had disembarked from the Lonely Mountain were steady and strong, lacking the hobble from the day previous. While his sprained ankle had given him trouble for a while, it had not been quite so dire as he had let on. By the time his brother had woken from his long slumber, the falter in Fíli's step had mostly been gone. He had continued to play up the injury, however, to keep Kíli from being bothered by having been hurt so badly.

The journey from the gates of Erebor to the city of Dale was not a long one, by any means; but with two wagons full of gold, another of tools and supplies, and almost one hundred Dwarves on foot, it had taken just a bit longer than usual. By the time they had reached the entrance to the city, the troupe had been spotted and a small welcoming party had been formed. At least, Fíli hoped they were there to welcome them. As they drew closer, he could see the familiar faces of Bard and his eldest daughter among the waiting group, and he was encouraged by the sight. The new King and Lady of Dale broke away from the gathering and he met them halfway between their two peoples.

"I hear that you are a prince, now, yes?" Bard stood, arms crossed over his chest, and letting the hillside add to his height. "That's quite a long way to come from climbing out of toilets."

His daughter, Sigrid, elbowed her father in the side with a soft spoken reprimand. The man let out an exaggerated grunt, but relaxed his stern posture with a grin.

She stepped forward and curtsied to the Dwarf Lord before her. The move was awkward and unpracticed, and for a moment he worried that she would tumble from the road, but she finished with a smile which he returned with ease.

Fíli executed a bow in response, and if perhaps it was a bit overly flourished and excessive it had been worth it to hear the Lady laugh. His brother was not the only one who delighted in the sound of feminine delight.

Bard stepped forward to join his daughter and his stance was more open and friendly. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The Dwarf prince gestured grandly towards the wagons behind him and let his voice carry. "I have brought the gold that we had agreed upon as payment in Lake-town." He turned back to the two and lowered his tone to a whisper. "And perhaps a bit more. I've a proposition for you from my King."

Bard sent a quick glance to the restless Dwarves on the road and the equipment they had brought with them. When he looked to Fíli again his voice was also subdued. "I assume the price to be paid will not be in the gold that you've brought with you?"

The prince nodded. "Simply an alliance between our two peoples; the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor." He put emphasis on the last word. "The Dwarves of only Erebor."

The new king raised a brow before looking once more over the assembly on the road. "I see." He fixed his gaze on Fíli and it was a measuring stare. "An alliance between our two kingdoms would seem beneficial to all involved. But I find myself reluctant to risk what remains of my people on the whims of Thorin Oakenshield."

The prince had been expecting something of that nature. Even with their bargain now fulfilled, that did not excuse the actions of his uncle while he had been under the Dragon Sickness. "You may hold me accountable for this alliance." Fíli stood proudly; every inch a Son of Durin. "I am not my uncle, nor am I under the influence of the illness which had caused him to act so poorly. I will keep my word, and I promise you; the lives of your people will not be thought of lightly."

Again Bard stared into him, as if trying to read the Dwarf's intentions from the inside.

Sigrid's soft voice spoke up. "Da, you can trust him." She lay a hand on her father's arm and smiled at Fíli. "Don't forget, he and his kin defended Bain, Tilda, and me from Orc blades and Dragon's fire." She looked back to her father. "What else could you ask of him to prove himself?"

The look Bard sent to his daughter was one Fíli had never witnessed on the man before him, but had seen on Thorin from time to time. It spoke of the love and tenderness all fathers feel for their children, with a pride that could not be concealed, and a regret that they could not protect their young from the harshness of the world.

The King of Dale nodded his acceptance and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to the city of Dale." His voice rolled down the road to the waiting Dwarves.

There was grumbling from the horde behind him and Fíli was grateful that his host could not understand their language. Most, if not all, of the Iron Hills clan had thought it a waste of time and resources to offer aid to the human city, preferring to focus on the repairs of the Lonely Mountain first. He had no doubt, however, that they would do their duty without falter; most likely a fair bit faster than expected, as well, to try to get back as quickly as possible.

* * *

><p>Bard and his daughter had led the way through the gate and into the city proper. The wagons had been left with the guards and the Dwarves had flowed through like a landslide, leaving great clouds of dust in their wake. They had been led to a row of mostly intact houses for them to stay in while in the city but Fíli had taken in the scope of his surroundings and promptly declined. At the dubious look on the bowman's face the Dwarf lord had tried to explain. His people were best served surrounded by stone; broken or whole, it made no difference. They would feel more at home in the rubble than this close to the heart of the city and the people that lived there; and so the horde had set off again, this time away from the bustle of everyday life.<p>

Even decimated as it was the town was still large, and with debris blocking the streets, it was afternoon before the Dwarves were finally settled into their new home and ready to work. Bard had offered to show Fíli around, so that he might have a better understanding of what needed to be done, but a runner from the garrison had arrived before they could set out, and the King of Dale had been called away to business.

And so it was that Sigrid and Fíli found themselves walking through the crumbling streets, just the two of them.

"We've not done much in the way of repairs, just yet." She explained, as they skirted a fallen wall.

Fíli looked up at the half standing structure, before focusing once more on the woman beside him. "Wouldn't that be a priority before the snows begin to fall?"

She made a noise of agreement and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We've been lucky to find a roof for everyone," her tone turned somber, "the battle helped with that a bit."

They were both silent for a moment. Though Thorin's Company had been fortunate enough to survive the battle without a loss, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills had lost a fair few of their numbers and knew well the cost of war.

When Sigrid spoke next her voice was firmer, and he was reminded that, though she had been born the daughter of a bargeman, the woman beside him was now the daughter of a king. "Right now our time is best spent on filling up the stores. What food we had from harvest burned on the lake and our stocks are low."

They were getting closer to the habitable part of the city again, if the buzz and hum up ahead was any indication.

"We've been scavenging the orchards for what's left of the crop," she continued, "and draining the lake of fish to dry before the lake freezes and they dive too deep."

Fíli nodded, his gaze drifting over the buildings around them. He thought of offering the supplies of Erebor, but they were not his to give. What food there was in the mountain had been brought by Dáin; and while his uncle might have considered the notion, he doubted that his uncle's cousin would be so agreeable.

"There are the Elves, though," she said with a smile. "They've been bringing us supplies. It's been an unexpected kindness, but a very welcome one."

The best he could offer was a neutral acknowledgement. It was a dangerous thing, he knew, to rely on the generosity of Elves, especially those of Mirkwood. He hoped that Thranduil's good will would hold through the winter; for the sake of Sigrid, and her people.

The handfuls of townsfolk they had been passing became a genuine crowd as they continued and Fíli tried to ignore the stares that they were receiving. This part of the city had been cleaned up to an extent, the largest of the debris having been removed, though the architecture could still use repair.

The people parted as they made their way down the street and he could not help but notice the way heads bobbed in deference as they passed. Growing up in the Blue Mountains, Fíli and his brother had always known about their lineage and what expectations would be on them when they were of age. Sigrid, on the other hand, had most likely never dreamed that her life would turn out the way that it had. She greeted each and every person with a smile and a kind word, but he could read how uncomfortable she was at their attentions by the stiffness of her shoulders and the silence that settled between them. It was an easy thing for him to suggest that they walk the perimeter of the outer wall; in part to see what he could of the damage, but also to separate themselves from the crowd.

As they reached the edge of the city, and approached one of the many gaping holes in the great wall, Sigrid paused to look at the peak rising over them. "I grew up looking out my window at that mountain." Her eyes were distant as she gazed at its snow covered summit and he could see the shadow of days past. "It had always been a symbol of despair before, a symbol of loss." When her eyes focused again, they found Fíli and he was glad to see the warmth returned to them. "But now the dragon is gone and people are living there again. When I look to the mountain now, I see the braziers lit and it fills me with hope."

The smile she gave to him was soft, and he found it an easy thing to return. She was so young, her face still held a hint of youthful roundness, and yet, her bearing carried a wisdom that could only be won through hardship. Standing beside her, he could begin to see what had been so obvious on all of the faces they had passed before. She had a balance of dignity and humility that would serve her well in the years to come, and her people clearly adored for it.

He offered her his arm, elbow bent, "Shall we, my Lady?"

She curled her hand around it with a smile.

They walked side-by-side in comfortable silence until a blockage in the road forced them apart. The remains were not piled high and he was able to help himself, and then Sigrid, over with little trouble.

She peaked a shy smile up at him through her lashes as he handed her down to the ground once more. "I never did say thank you for saving us." At his dubious look she clarified. "In Lake-town."

Fíli offered her his arm again. "Yes, well," he was caught somewhere between a roguish smile and a sheepish grin, "it was the least we could do. It was, after all, our fault that you were in danger in the first place."

She looked away with a playful smile of her own, and he found that he quite liked the look on her.

If he had not still been watching her face, he would not have seen the smile slip away to be replaced with something more somber. "Still, if not for the bravery of you and your kin..." She let the sentiment trail off.

"You were brave too." He reassured her.

The look she gave him then was full of incredulity and self-loathing. "Very brave indeed to hide beneath a table."

He stopped them in their steps and turned to face her fully, laying his free hand on her arm. Though he only came up to her shoulders, his stance was commanding and his voice was earnest as he looked up into her face. "You protected your sister, and that is no small thing. You must never doubt yourself."

She cast her eyes away but nodded. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze before he released it and with her hand still tucked in the crook of his arm they set off once more.

It was several paces before she spoke again and he was glad to hear the confidence back in her voice. "I still wish I could have done more, though. I think that I would have liked to have learned how to wield a blade; like the Lady Elf."

He looked to her again and was further encouraged when she met his eyes. "Well then, why don't you?"

Her sigh was full of longing. "I am the Lady of Dale now, it wouldn't be proper." Here her voice turned wry. "And besides, who would teach me? My da?"

"I could," he spoke without thinking; but on reflection, found that he did not regret the words at all. "When there is time." It was Sigrid who halted their progress now. At her incredulous look, he explained. "No harm has ever come from knowing how to guard oneself. In fact, the best way to protect someone is to teach them a proper defense."

Her face lit up, bright and hopeful. "I think that I would like that very much," Her smile only dimmed a little as she added, "but, perhaps, just for now, mind you, we should keep it just between the two of us."

By the time the pair had made the journey back around to the beginning, Fíli realized that he had spent more time watching Sigrid than checking the wall for damage, and could not find it in himself to mind at all.

* * *

><p>As the sun peaked over the horizon the next morning, and long before it would breach the top of the walls of the city of Dale, the sounds of masonry could be heard filling the air. The ting and crunch of work would last until the sun would begin its descent, as was the way of Dwarves. It was midday before Fíli broke away from the work to take a break, and only then because of the appearance of unexpected visitors.<p>

He barely had to time to turn and drop his tools before he had an armful of excited Tilda. "Careful now," he admonished her, as he swung her around with a laugh, "accidents are not unheard of when there is stone being cut, and work being done."

He set the young girl down on her feet and she stepped back without her smile dimmed a bit. "I've told Da all about how you saved us and what a hero you are." She paused to take a look at the Dwarves around them. "Are the others here as well? How is your brother? Does his leg still hurt him? Did you and your friends fight in the battle?"

"Tilda," Sigrid cut of the unending questions with a roll of her eyes as she caught up to her little sister. "He can't answer any of your questions if you don't give him the chance to speak." She looked to Fíli with a bashful smile. "She's been begging to see you since she first found out you were in the city."

He chuckled at that. "The others are still in the mountain, and my brother is much better now, thank you," he answered Tilda.

The younger girl looked up to her sister. "Do you think we should go and visit? Da always brings flowers when we're feeling unwell, maybe we should bring some to Kíli."

Fíli's laugh was louder this time and many a Dwarf stopped to look their way. "I'm sure that he would like that very much, but perhaps now is not the best time for a visit."

Tilda looked as if she was about to ask another question but was cut off by her sister once more. "We thought you might like something to warm you up."

She looked over her shoulder to a small cart that was just rounding the bend in the street. The wariness of the people who were pulling the dolly was a stark contrast to the openness of Bard's children. As the cart drew near Fíli could see a large barrel and a pile of empty tankards. The offer of free drink caught the attention of more and more Dwarves and the sounds of metal on stone began to fade.

"A number of these casks were found floating on the lake," Sigrid explained as the first mug was filled and passed to her. "Wine is not the only thing that Esgaroth was once known for." She held the flask as if it held the greatest of treasures; steam curling up from the liquid and away from her hands. She raised the flagon between them as an offering. As the sweet smell reached his nose, Fíli could feel his stomach rebel.

Apples; it would have to be apples. He was aware of every eye on him, human and Dwarf alike. He knew that if he refused the gift, it would be an insult to Sigrid and an example for his own people. He swallowed down his grimace and forced himself to accept the mug. He focused instead on the feel of Sigrid's hands beneath his as he took the tankard from her. A hint of a blush colored her cheeks and he held her eyes as he brought the first taste of cider to his lips. It was an easy thing to find a smile for her when she looked so lovely in front of him.

His surroundings were brought back into focus when the sounds of Tilda trying to offer a drink to the next nearest Dwarf caught his ears. The man was just taller than the young girl but twice as wide. He held himself stiffly and with a caution that was reflected in all of his countrymen. She seemed not to take notice of any of this, however, and was busy explaining how tasty the drink was; as if his reluctance was that of a child refusing to try a new food for the first time.

"It's really, really quite good," she reassured him. "Look," she brought the cider back towards herself, "see?" and took a swig before offering it the Dwarf once more. "I would drink all of it myself, if I could, but Da says then I'd be too sweet and would melt in the rain."

A few of the Dwarves around them chuckled and she smiled all the brighter for it. The Dwarf in front of her finally reached forward and accepted the cider, taking a tentative sip for himself. His face turned thoughtful and he smacked his lips a few times before nodding his head.

A rumble of approval went through the closest of the crowd and that seemed to be the signal the others had been waiting for. As one, they moved towards the cart and full mugs were passed sloshing overhead and throughout the gathering. Fíli watched as the Dwarves settled around the area, laughing and talking; more relaxed than they had been since leaving the mountain. Many were listening to Tilda, who had settled herself in the midst of the camp, and was recounting their adventurous escape the night of Smaug's attack. It was a sight that filled him with a hope he had not believed would be so easily found.

Sigrid, at his side, leaned into him and spoke in an undertone. "There's an unused stable nearby that I think would work for lessons." He looked up and found her expression to be one of uncertainty. "If you would be able to find the time tonight?"

"I'm certain that I can slip away," he assured her. "Will you be missed?" he wondered.

She flushed again and shook her head. "It will have to be after dark." She met his eyes and he could see the excitement building there. "Once Tilda is asleep and Da has checked in on us one last time, I should be free to leave."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the scene spread out before him. The men and women that had brought the cart were sharing in the warm drink and had eased enough to chat with the Dwarves closest to them. It was Tilda, though, that kept his attention; it was she who lifted his worries about the future. Perhaps his uncle had been wrong about the Dwarves of the Iron Hills and their ability to remain untouched by the plight of the other races. The young girl seemed to have developed a fondness for his kin, and it looked as if those around her were easily falling for her charms. He wondered if the iron heart of Dáin could stand up to the sweetness of little Tilda, or if he would melt as easily as his own men were doing in her presence.

* * *

><p>AN: In 'The History of The Hobbit', Tolkien set 19 October as Durin's Day, so I'm going with that for my timetable for the seasons.

A/N: I have head cannon that if Dwarf women are rare, then so too are Dwarf babies, and because of that, all Dwarves see children as something to be treasured, regardless of their race. Also, I'm modeling Tilda after an older version my niece who could charm the scales off of a snake. ^_^


	7. Chapter 6

Fíli had not been certain how long after the setting of the sun that he would have to wait for Sigrid. He had shed his outer coat upon entering the stable and settled himself onto the floor with a wooden block in one hand and a whittling knife in the other. It had been too long since he had last had the chance to practice the art of carving and the simple focus that it required was soothing after a long day of hard labor.

He had been able to get a good start on his project by the time one of the large doors was cracked open and a cloaked figure slipped through. He paused in his work, knife held firmly in one hand and swords waiting ready at his side. Too many nights spent on the open road had made it hard for him to trust shadowed strangers, even when company was expected.

His tensed muscles relaxed as the hood was lowered, and he stood to greet Sigrid with another courtly bow. "My Lady."

He wondered if she would always blush when he addressed her as such and found himself tempted to put the theory to the test. She curtsied in return, holding out the cloak in lieu of a skirt, and seemed much more confident with the move than she had the day before. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," she began as she removed her outer layer and laid it over the nearest stall door. "With all of the excitement of the day it took longer for Tilda to fall asleep than usual."

He had meant to reassure her that the wait had not bothered him at all, but the words lodged in his throat when he saw what she had hidden beneath her cloak, and he never made it past the first syllable.

She was dressed in plain breeches and a blouse that must have been a size too small, judging by the way it pulled across her chest, and he was at just the right height to get a good look. He forced his eyes back up to her face, and tried to push the inappropriate thoughts aside. He could see the benefit that she would gain from such garments and tried to focus; there would be no worry about loose clothing or the flow of a skirt to get in the way, and that was good thinking on her part.

As the silence stretched out between them he realized what a fool he must look like and rushed to complete his earlier thought. "Not long at all." He held up the block still in his hand. "I was just catching up on a hobby of mine."

She smiled again and her shoulders settled into a more relaxed position at his words. They stood staring at one another until eventually she gestured to the ground beside him. "Is that the sword I'll be practicing with?"

"Hmm?" He looked down to where she had pointed and came back to himself from the trance that he had been lost in. He could have cursed himself for a fool, the way he was behaving. He turned away from her to gather his wits and trade the block and knife for one of the swords. "Yes. Yes, it is." There was no reason for him to be so affected by the sight of a woman in trousers. He had seen plenty of women in trousers, Dwarves and Elves both; but never a human, never this human. That morning all that he had seen was a girl still shedding the last of her youthfulness, but now there was no denying that she was in fact a woman grown. He wondered if it was Bard, Sigrid, or human custom that had her hiding beneath layers of fabric and skirts. The thought of what the King of Dale would do to Fíli if the bowman were to be privy to such thoughts put an end them quite efficiently.

He turned back to Sigrid, determined to be nothing but a gentleman. "Right. The first thing you need to learn is a proper stance." He moved to stand beside her, his right foot forward and arm extended. She mimicked the posture, holding out her empty hand. "Good. That's good. Now, pick a target." He scanned the area in front of them and pointed to a spot between two stall doors. "Right about there. Turn your toes a bit; yes, just like that." He stepped back to get a better look and nodded with satisfaction.

"This is how you should be practicing from now on." She moved her focus from the wall to him but didn't drop her arm. "You'll be working muscles that you may not be used to using, and it will take time to build them up properly." He moved back into position. "This first exercise may look simple, but after a few minutes, it won't feel like it." He began to move the sword forwards and backwards, away from his body and back again, keeping his arm locked in its outright position. "Push through with the wrist, but the movement should come from your forearm." He held out the sword to her. "You try it."

She took the weapon from him carefully and he smiled, unsure if she was afraid to hurt him, herself, or the sword. When she arranged herself back into the stance, he was glad to see that her grip was firm. She began to rock the blade in the way that he had shown her, and he was a bit more than surprised at her control.

"Good. Very good." He watched her movements and let her continue until her cuts began to turn on the swing. "Make sure that you lead with the edge, don't turn the blade. You're more likely to make your opponent angry than do any real damage that way."

The minutes ticked by and stacked higher in number until he could see the strain building on her face. Only once more did he need to correct her form, but she did not falter for a moment. Thorin had been an excellent teacher, but a strict one, and Fíli had practiced that move as a child until his arms had ached. He began to wonder if she would call a halt to the exercise eventually, or simply continue until her arm would no longer be able to hold the weight. The tenacious look on her face had him guessing that it would be the latter.

"That's enough for now." He held out his hand for the sword and she lowered her shaking arm to pass it to him. "This should be a slow build up. It will take time and patience." Her grip had seized while she had been holding the sword and she had to peel her hand away from the hilt one finger at a time. He could well remember the feeling and how sore his forearms had been when he had been the pupil.

He had begun to worry that he had pushed her too hard on her first day, but the look that she gave him put his fears to rest. "That was amazing." Her smile was large and bright. She shook her arm and began to rub it with the other hand, trying to ease the tension.

He gestured for them to sit and set the sword aside. He held his hands out, palms up, to ask for her sore limb. "I'm impressed. You did very well today." She laid her arm in his hands with hardly any hesitation, and he began to massage the swollen muscles. When she winced at the pressure and he paused in his movements. "Too hard?"

This had always been his favorite part of practice as a child. Perhaps it had come from growing up without the love and attention of a father, but the aftercare that Thorin had given to his nephews after each round of tutoring had been a treasured memory for both boys.

She shook her head no and he began to rub again. "It hurts, but, it feels good too. Does that make any sense?"

His thumb found a large knot and he focused his ministrations around it until the muscle was warm and loose.

"I know just what you mean," he reassured her with a smile. He gave her arm one more long rub before releasing it. "And you've never held a sword before?"

She pulled her arm back with a word of gratitude and he made a spinning motion with his finger. When her only response was a bewildered look he elaborated. "Your shoulder too."

Her cheeks pinked just the slightest but she nodded and swiveled around to face away from him. He moved to sit behind her and smoothed his hands over her back, hunting for the tightest muscles. He was surprised by what he found there and was reminded of his earlier question. "You have very strong shoulders," he told her as he began to kneed the tissue. "That will serve you well in your practice." What little tension that had built within her frame began to ease out again and it was not long before her head had lolled forward. "You never did answer my question." She hummed a response and he chuckled, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. "You've never had any training at all?"

Her answer was more of a moan than a response and his hands paused as the sound settled low in his belly. He realized how improper the scene would appear from the outside looking in; him touching her so intimately, and her settled between his legs. He withdrew reluctantly and shuffled back, giving her space to turn and face him again. Her eyes were half-lidded and hazy in a way that had him shifting in his seat again, and he hoped that she would take no notice to the effect that she was having on him.

She came back to herself in degrees and he tried to distract her before she could give too much thought to how inappropriate they had just been. It was hard for him to remember that humans were much more reserved than he was used to dealing with. While physical closeness was common among Dwarves, regardless of age or gender, she was not a Dwarf, and he could not let himself forget that.

"Previous training?" He asked again.

She shook her head and brushed a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "No, never." She raised one shoulder in indifference. "Just wooden swords with Bain; when he was younger and had no one else to play with."

Fíli prodded her further, half from curiosity and half to keep the conversation going. "You handle a sword better than any beginner I've seen." He was pleased to see her smile return at his compliment. "You have very strong shoulders for a woman, and a human one at that."

"I grew up on a lake," she answered with another half shrug, "I've been casting nets since I was old enough to stand on my own. That's bound to make a difference, I guess."

He made a noise of agreement. His thoughts kept straying back to his hands on her shoulders and the sound that she had made. As the seconds ticked by, and nothing more was said, she rose from the ground to stand. "I should probably be getting back before I'm missed."

He nodded and moved to stand as well, following her to where her cloak had been laid. "You should practice that move as often as you can. Anything that can be gripped as a sword will work in its place; a hammer, or a stick."

"A rolling pin?" She asked as she fastened she cloak about her shoulders.

"Yes, that would do." He held his arms behind his back in a rigid stance to keep himself from fidgeting; he was most definitely not a fidget-er. "That would do nicely, I think."

"So," she pulled the hood up but hesitated to leave. "When should we meet again?"

"Tomorrow," he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. "To make sure that you are keeping your form." He had enjoyed their time together, even if they had not spoken much. It was nice to have a friendly face and he quite liked her company. She was definitely a better companion than the Dwarves he would be spending every moment of every day with for the foreseeable future.

She nodded, and with one last smile, slipped back out into the darkness. He watched her until she rounded a corner and his eyes were drawn in the direction of the mountain. He could not see it that night, with the clouds hung low and no light from moon or stars to highlight it's peak; but he could feel it's pull just the same, and he wondered how the others were fairing.

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><p>Kíli had not seen Tauriel since she had left her room that morning. They had talked long over breakfast about the pros and cons of continuing her work helping Óin. Kíli had argued that she owed nothing to anyone and could spend her time as she so chose, but she had only smiled and laid a soft kiss on his brow. He had worried that she would get lost along the way, but she had brushed aside his concern, tucked him into her bed, and set off early on her own. She was unused to having free time and liked the thought of being useful, even in a small way.<p>

In the end, having her busy had been advantageous to him, as he then had the time he needed to sneak away for work of his own. He also felt better knowing that she would be near to one of the few Dwarves that would not treat her poorly, nor would the healer allow others to do so in his presence; though, that was assuming the old man could hear what was going on around him. She had given Kíli strict orders, before setting out, for him to stay in bed and rest; and he had for a time. But he was unused to idle time as well and had left for the day soon after.

When he had gone to collect her for supper that evening and she had not been in the Hall of Healing, or her room, or even his own, he had begun to worry. Two hours of fruitless scouring and he was near to frantic. He had searched everywhere that he could think of to look, with no trace of her and no helpful answers to his inquiries from those that he had passed. The mountain was huge and much of it was still a danger to any who would traverse its corridors alone; if she had gone exploring, she could have been lost, or trapped, or injured, or worse.

He had ventured to the upper levels in his desperation and come upon a Dwarf of the Iron Hills trying and failing to look inconspicuous at the entrance to an empty corridor. The hairs on the back of Kíli's neck stood on end and he marched towards the man with a purpose.

"You're a bit far from the main floors." The accusation was clear in his voice, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. "What are you doing up here?"

The Dwarf looked distinctly uncomfortable, and raised one hand to scratch at the back of his hairy head. "Jus', keepin' a look out. 'S nothing wrong with tha'."

Kíli took a threatening step forward and his tone turned cold. "Looking out for what?"

"It wasn't my idea." The bottom dropped out from Kíli's stomach as his imagination jumped from one horrible conclusion to the next. "It's jus' not righ', having an Elf in a Dwarven Mountain." The other Dwarf eyed him warily as the fear in Kíli turned to fury.

The prince reached for his sword on reflex, and cursed himself for not thinking to bring one on his search. He grabbed the other man by the shirt collar, instead, and shook him with as much force as he could muster. "What have you done with her," he snarled.

"I haven' dun nothin'." The man shoved Kíli away with enough force to break his hold. "I'm jus' supposed ta watch 'er, make sure doesn' cause any trouble."

It took a moment for the words to penetrate through the red haze that surrounded Kíli, but when they did, he felt a rush of relief. "Watch her?" Then the meaning of those words sank in, and his relief turned to indignation. "You've been following Tauriel? Under who's orders?"

"It's no' righ'," the guard stated again with a sneer, and Kíli could feel his anger rising once more.

"Get out," his voice was calm and quiet but there was a storm brewing inside of him. He was sick to death of the whispers and looks that he had been receiving all day. He could only imagine the scorn and resentment that Tauriel had been subjected to for the past week and it made his blood boil all the hotter.

When the other Dwarf did not move, Kíli shoved him in the direction of the hall's entrance. "Get out," he shouted, "and tell Dáin, the next time he wants to send spies I'll not be so forgiving."

The man seemed surprised at the prince's heated outburst and hesitated for only a moment before turning on his heel and beating a hasty retreat. Kíli closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. This was not how he had wanted to start the night. He only hoped that Tauriel had not heard his shouting.

When his breathing had evened out again and the adrenaline had mostly left his system, Kíli walked through the archway the Dwarf had been guarding and followed the hall until one side opened onto a balcony. Tauriel stood, looking out into the night, and a flutter of trepidation coiled around his spine. Thorin's words from the night before repeated in his head and Kíli feared that his love was already regretting her decision to stay with him.

"The stars are hidden from me tonight." She turned her gaze away from the sky and cast him a look over her shoulder.

He could think of nothing to say and so stayed silent. She lifted one hand from the railing, holding it out to him, and he pushed away all thoughts of his uncle, and Dáin, and the others as he reached to accept it, joining her at the barrier. Just the simple act of their hands meeting soothed his frayed nerves and he breathed easier than he had since his search for her had begun that evening. He let his gaze drift out over the land. He could just make out spots of light in the distance, beacons where the night watch of Dale had lit braziers on the high wall. His thoughts drifted to his brother and how he might be fairing in the city of Men. He hoped that Fíli would be able to find some comfort, surrounded as he was by strangers. They had never really been apart before, not for any extended period of time, and he wondered how long it would take for the repairs of Dale to be finished.

"This is the first chance that I have had to see the stars again," she looked down to him and he was surprised to see a shy tilt to her smile. "I was afraid that if I stepped foot outside of the mountain, even for a moment, the doors would be locked behind me, and I would not be allowed back in."

He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Never," he promised. "This mountain is your home now, for however long you want it."

Her smile grew at his words before she looked back out over the railing. He dug his free hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the object that resided there.

"Tauriel." She turned her head to look at him and he used their joined hands to pull her completely around to face him. "I've something I want to ask you."

She tilted her head at an inquiring angle and waited for him to speak.

"I know we've only talked about this briefly, and we've so much still to figure out. But I know that I love you, and now I know that you love me too, and really that's all that I need to know." He was rambling now and smiling like an idiot, but he was not quite sure how else to go about this. He pulled the small box from his pocket and released her hand to lift the lid away. Inside lay two gleaming white-silver beads carved with an interlacing pattern. "Would you do me the privilege of becoming my wife?"

She stood rooted, as unmoving as the trees of her banished home, and he began to fear that his mother had been correct about his reckless nature.

"We can wait as long as you want," he hoped that he did not sound as desperate as he felt, "as long as you need. One year. Two. A lifetime. I don't care." He forced himself to take a deep breath. "So long as I get to spend it with you."

Finally, she moved one hand to brush against the tokens, and it was with a stricken look that she met his eyes. "But I have never learned the craft of metal working and can make nothing for you in return."

He shrugged his shoulders, trying and failing to make the move look nonchalant. "I don't care. You could offer me the lace from your boot and I would wear it round my neck proudly."

She smiled and he could see a shine to her eyes. Without looking away she raised her hands to her nape. When she brought them forwards again she had a delicate chain pinched between her fingers and his eyes. His eyes were drawn to the charm that had been hidden beneath her collar; a crystal star suspended in the silver outline of a tear drop. It was beautiful.

"It is all that I have," she whispered, "and I would gladly give it to you as my token."

"So that's a yes?" He was already smiling widely enough to split his face, but he needed to hear the words to be sure.

"Yes." She was laughing at him now, and he did not care. She moved her arms around him to fix the clasp about his neck and he ducked his head to give her better access. She pulled his hair out from beneath the chain and let her hands follow it around to where they met over his heart before laying a soft kiss on his lips.

When they pulled apart she cast a quick look down to the beads still held in his palm. "Would you put them in for me?"

He nodded and they settled together onto the ground. He lifted his hands to her hair with a shaking breath. Braiding hair, for Dwarves, was a special and meaningful act, but he could explain all of that to her later; for now, he just wanted to focus on the feel of her hair through his fingers. He knew exactly where he wanted the beads to go and selected one of the strands that framed her face; his token, his crest, braided into her hair with his own hands, obvious for everyone to see. The thought filled him with a warmth that he had come to associate with Tauriel. There would be no question, as well, as to where the charm around his neck had come from, or its meaning. They were laying claim to each other, formally, as was the custom of Dwarves.

He only hoped that Dain's men would recognize the promise as seriously as it was meant to be and cease their persecution of Tauriel. Even removed from succession as he was now, he was still of the royal line. With her as his betrothed, any action taken against her would be an act against himself, and by extension, his entire family; king included. An attack against her now would be paramount to treason, and as such, a prelude to war. He truly hoped that it would not come to that, but he would stop at nothing to keep her safe.

* * *

><p>AN: All that I know about sword training I have learned from 2 Youtube videos, the links of which are posted on my Livejournal.

A/N: I have an image of Tauriel with her hair braided and beaded that I'll be posting to LJ and Tumblr, and the necklace is actually something made for the movies, even though they never show it. You can find it by googling 'Tauriel's necklace'. (I want one, I want one so badly.)


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Action scenes aren't really my thing, so be gentle. And updates will be every other week from now on.

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><p>The plate of Thorin's breakfast sat untouched on the far corner of his desk. He had enjoyed only marginally better success ignoring the meal than he had the Dwarf who sat across from him. Arms crossed and a scowl upon his face, Balin was a force to be reckoned with, even in his silence. Thorin could feel the steady glare pounding down upon him and found himself concentrating more on not acknowledging his most trusted advisor, then actually getting any work done.<p>

"Speak," he ordered without looking up, letting irritation bleed into his tone. He shuffled a few of the papers in front of him out of principal; he may not have actually been reading the words on the page, but that did not mean that he would admit to being distracted.

Balin heaved a heavy sigh but held his tongue. A tired hand rubbed at the bridge of Thorin's nose and he knew that any reprieve he sought would not be found until the other man had been satisfied. Though he may have earned his crown and become king, some things would never change.

Thorin gave up all pretense and sat back in his chair as he sent a glare of his own to the white haired Dwarf.

"Quite the beautiful day we're having, is it not?" Balin had not loosened his posture one bit, despite his casual tone.

The younger Dwarf huffed a laugh in disbelief and forced himself to play along. "Is it?" Balin had never been one to waste his time without good reason.

"Aye, very much so," the crossed arms loosened and the older man leaned forward _to rest one arm on the desk_. "You should go and see it for yourself. Sunlight and fresh air would do you a bit of good."

A grin of satisfaction appeared on the king's face, "I see," and vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "And who would attend to the matters at hand while I am out frolicking in the fields?"

Balin refused to be baited and that only annoyed the younger man more. "It will all still be here awaiting your most illustrious return. Of that, you have my word."

Before a retort could be given the door to Thorin's office was opened and the other half of his oldest comrades stepped through. The brothers nodded a greeting and then Dwalin pinned his stare on the king. "You need ta come with me."

The hulk of a Dwarf did not wait for an answer before turning back to the door and moving into the hallway. Had he been more rested, Thorin might have taken offense to being ordered about in his own kingdom; but with tension running high all around, and the threat of a coup always on his mind, the king rose without a word and followed after his friend.

He barely noticed Balin trailing after them as they marched through the long halls and open passages of the mountain; down and around until they were nearing the armory. Dwalin's pace was steady and strong, but not rushed, and the king found himself wondering. If there were to be an attack, the warrior would not have been so relaxed, or as relaxed as that particular Dwarf had ever been, but why else would they be heading for weaponry?

When they passed through the doorway and into the room proper, Dwalin made straight for a rack of pole arms and selected two quarterstaffs. He tossed one to Thorin, who caught it with ease, before continuing through to the practice arena. The area was not as large as the full arena would be, once they dug through the rubble to find it again, but it was plenty big enough for two Dwarves to let off steam.

Dwalin cracked his neck as her turned to face Thorin, and gestured towards the other man with the end of his staff. "You may want to shed some layers," he warned in a taunting voice, "and leave that shiny crown at the door. I'd hate to put a dent in it."

The feel of the wood in Thorin's hands was rejuvenating after having only wielded a quill and ink for the past week. He had always been a man of action, and the bureaucracy that he had been drowning in of late was one of the many sources of stress upon him. Even with his wounds still healing, the thought of a fight had him feeling more himself since they had first taken the mountain.

He hefted the pole in his hand and all thoughts of returning to his work vanished with a feral grin. "You'd have to land a blow, for that to be a possibility."

Dwalin barked a laugh as Thorin shed his robe and crown, laying them on the bench next to where Balin had parked himself. The old man looked far too smug for the king's liking, and when he sent the younger Dwarf a wink, Thorin realized that he had been had. It would seem that bashing each other about with large sticks would suffice in place of sunlight and fresh air. Whatever the reason, he was glad of the reprieve.

The two fighters took up positions facing one another, hands on staffs, and slowly circling the other. Dwalin struck first, swinging down from above in a feint before striking upwards from below with the rear of the staff. Falling for the bluff, Thorin almost missed defending the lower strike and had to move fast to block it. Frustrated at himself for not seeing the ruse for what it was, he knocked Dwalin's staff away and lunged the tip of his own forward, towards the other Dwarf's head. The warrior blocked and used the momentum to knock Thorin's weapon off track and away.

"I saw the Elf this morning." Sometimes Dwalin was too much like his brother, and Thorin groaned internally at the casual tone. "Interesting choice in accessories she has now."

Dwalin moved forward with a downward swing but Thorin stepped wide and the attack missed. Taking advantage of the opening, the king swung at the warriors back. Dwalin swept his weapon from front to back, low, and brought both poles over his head in an arc. He turned and aimed a wide swing towards Thorin's head, but the king ducked and let the staff sail over him before knocking Dwalin in the gut with the flat of his own.

"That boy will be the death of me," Thorin growled, but could not muster the disdain that such a comment would warrant. The thrill of moving again, of taking action, was singing through his veins.

They circled again, each looking for an opening in the other's stance.

Balin spoke up from his seat. "He misses his brother and is desperate to hold onto whomever he can. You could have sent them both to Dale; all three even. It would have gotten him well away from Dáin and that would only have been a blessing."

Thorin attacked, left, then right, in quick succession, barely acknowledging when Dwalin met each strike with a crack of his staff. "They are no longer children. They need to learn to separate." He could see the next attack coming high and swept his pole to block, then down and around, striking low left, then right, and again. He thought of his own brother, Frerin, and how the pain of that loss had not dulled over all of the years. Fíli and Kíli were so much closer than he and his brother had been and he feared that to lose one of them would be to lose them both. Watching his nephews over the past week had made that all too abundantly clear.

Balin spoke over the grunts of attacks and thwacks of the staffs. "Not you, nor I, nor any of us could replace the father that they lost so long ago. And in all of that time they have only had each other as a constant in their lives."

Dwalin moved to block each oncoming strike, losing ground with each swing. "Those two are not the only one's ta have lost a father." His tone was harsh as he pushed forward with a low attack.

"Aye, but some were younger than others." Balin sent his brother a reproving look, though he knew the other would not see it. "Kíli was not even old enough to hold a memory of him when their father passed."

Thorin swept his staff up to block and knocked away Dwalin's weapon, using the opening to swing at the other's head. "That still does not change the fact that they are grown now, and must learn to lead their own lives." His staff had gone over the warrior's head and he had to jump back to avoid taking a blow to his middle. Thorin used his leverage to knock his opponent's staff further away before lunging with a thrust to Dwalin's chest. The warrior parried easily before they broke apart to circle once again.

"And is that not what your young nephew is doing now?" Balin's tone was more than reasonable, which made the words all the more aggravating. "Trying to lead his own life?

"Is that what he is doing? And here I thought that he was trying to send me to an early grave." Thorin took his eyes away from his opponent just long enough to glare at his advisor. "At least his brother has enough good sense to rule when I am gone."

"Which might be sooner than you think." Dwalin used the moment of distraction to press his attack. "If you don't pay attention." Using both ends of the staff, left, then right, and again, he forced Thorin to retreat.

The king blocked every blow and stepped into the last strike, swinging down and forcing both staff tips to the ground. The move brought the fighters shoulder to shoulder, and without hesitation, Thorin swept his staff back up, straight into Dwalin's face and sent the other Dwarf staggering.

The space was quiet for a breath before the sound of laughter filled the silence; the carefree sound of shield-brothers bonding on adrenaline. Thorin leaned on his staff, a smile on his face for the first time in too long.

"I hear that Dáin has calmed down a bit, as well." At Balin's words, Thorin was reminded again of the responsibility that awaited him upstairs. "Though I still think it wise for you to avoid him for the time being."

The short lived smile on Thorin's face retreated once more, and he could feel the mantle of his title weighing down upon him. "It is my own fault for allowing him to rest in these halls to begin with."

Dwalin took a seat where he had been standing, his arms resting on bent knees. "What did he do, exactly, that has put you so on edge?"

"He does not need to do anything. I hear the whispers. I see the looks." Thorin's broad shoulders curled inward with guilt as his eyes lost focus. "I should have sent him away as soon as the battle was won. That treasure is a curse upon us all and those of Durin's blood feel it's pull the strongest." He turned his eyes to search the brothers before him. "Do you not hear it calling to you?" At their blank stares, he shook his head. "If not for the promise made in Lake-town, I would not have sent an ounce to Dale. I fear it will do them more harm than good."

Balin sent his brother a side look that did not unnoticed by the king and his guilt lit to anger like oil in a lamp. "I am not my grandfather, do not look to me as if I am. I have felt the Dragon Sickness. I have fought it, and I have won! But do not think that I am the only Dwarf in Erebor to be susceptible to it's lure."

Dwalin would not meet Thorin's eye and Balin heaved a great breath before answering. "No one knows when the caravans from the Blue Mountains will arrive. But if greater numbers would ease your mind, why not invite the Men of Dale? Bring the would-be craftsmen here, to teach them the ways of forge and stone. From what I saw of Lake-town, they could use all the help that they can get. And it would even our numbers that much further."

Thorin nodded as he thought on the suggestion. In a fight, one Dwarf was easily worth at least ten Men, but it was truly the only option left to them. "See that it is done."

Balin nodded and Dwalin still would not meet his gaze.

Thorin hoped that his forefathers could forgive him; first an Elf, and now Men living in Erebor. Knowing that the later would only be temporary, did not lessen the shame that twisted inside of him. It had been his grandfather who's greed that had lost them the mountain, and his own that had nearly kept them from retaining it after it's reclamation.

The king gathered his things and left the brothers in the arena, lost in his thoughts. The gold in the mountain was tainted, of that he had no doubt, and he had not set foot in the treasury since before the battle because of it. What he had yet to find was a cure; how did one go about lifting a curse?

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><p>The days flowed one into the other for Fíli, each following much the same pattern. Until one evening while waiting for Sigrid, he realized that a fortnight had passed. Rumors had spread throughout Dale of the Mountain King's invitation to Men and Fíli had been surprised at first, more so even at Bard's reluctance to accept. But, he had not been sent to the city for politics, and had spent little time thinking on anything other than the repairs in front of him.<p>

The outer wall of Dale was soon to be finished and the Dwarves would start their work on the city itself within days. Each afternoon brought a visit from the King's daughters, and on the rare occasion when he could break away from training at the garrison, Bain would come as well. Fíli enjoyed each visit from Bard's children, but looked forward to the nights the most; when he and Sigrid were alone and the pressures of their stations were left at the door. During their time together he did not have to be a visiting envoy, or an example to the other Dwarves, or even the heir to the throne of Erebor; he was simply a friend who was good with a sword, quick to laugh, and who missed his brother terribly.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the carving that he had started that first night, when Sigrid joined him for the evening. He tucked the bit of wood away and stood with a happy greeting.

She was quick to shed her cloak and join him, her excitement for their session barely restrained.

"Tonight," she questioned without preamble and he chuckled at her enthusiasm. Tonight she would begin her formal training and move beyond the basic muscle building skills. At his nod her smile bloomed in full and he found himself basking in it as if she were the lone lantern in a deep cave.

She was near to bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation and moved to collect his swords from where they lay. During the time that they had shared together over the past two weeks they had spent as much time trading words as they had practicing with swords. This was not the Lady of Dale that stood before him, but Sigrid, his dear friend. In this space, with just the two of them, she was more open and free with her speech and manner than when they were together during the day, and he had come to appreciate their sessions more and more. It reminded him of being young in Ered Luin and brought to him a sense of comfort that he had not realized he had been missing.

Sigrid passed him one of the swords with a smile and he slipped easily into the role of the trainer.

Holding his sword in the starting position, he took a step back to increase the distance between them. "For now, make sure that your spare hand is out of the way." He laid his own against his chest and she mimicked the movement. "Rotate the wrist, down, around, and back again." He moved his sword forward and away, as he had shown her that first night, but instead of drawing back, he allowed the blade to follow through; down towards the ground, then around and past him, back up behind with a twist of the wrist and forward past his face. "This is called Zê'mim Imgam. It means 'first little circle'."

She had been following along with his movements, but could not seem to get her wrist to turn correctly on the way back up. When she repeated the same mistake again he stopped her. "Hold on," he cast his eyes about the area, searching for something to stand on, "give me a moment." With their differences in height it would be difficult to help her without a slight boost. Luckily, he had moved a few items into the large space when it had become clear that their meetings would be a regular occurrence, and the crate that he had used was just about the right size.

She watched him as he collected his makeshift stool, but did not question him as he settled it behind her and stepped atop it. Instead she laughed at him and he smiled, not sure if she could not contain her amusement, or if she simply did not feel the need. Either way, he enjoyed the sound and took no offense.

"And just what is so funny, little girl," he teased. From this vantage, he was just a hair taller than her and she smiled up at him in a way that he could grow quite used to.

"Who are you calling little," she taunted with a cheeky grin.

He arched an eyebrow and motioned for her to face away once again. She sent him a look through her lashes as she turned around, the smile far from gone on her face. Once again in the starting position, she moved her free arm to lay across her chest. He reached for the hand that held the sword and she had to bend her elbow just slightly in order for him to reach it. He had never felt self-conscious about his size before, not once in his life, but in this moment he would have appreciated the longer limbs. He wrapped his hand around her own, his grip over hers on the hilt. He took a deep breath before wrapping his other arm around her, following the curve of her own arm across her chest and pulling her against him more firmly.

"Close your eyes," He whispered into her ear and she stiffened in his embrace for just a moment before taking a deep breath of her own. As she released it, her body relaxed and he felt a rush of pride at her trust in him. He tightened his grip over hers on the hilt and moved the sword through the twists and turns of the exercise. Over and over they repeated the motion until it was flawless.

"Can you feel it?" His voice had deepened without his meaning to. "The flow of it?" He slowed their movement to a stop, letting their arms hang by their sides. He threaded the fingers of his free hand through her own and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Yes. I can feel it." Her answer was breathless and he could not stop the smirk that spread across his face. She cleared her throat before continuing in a soft voice. "I think that I've got it now."

The words were past his lips before he could think better of them and he whispered into her neck, "And I've got you."

"Oh?" Her tone was more surprised than teasing and he lifted his head away, not sure if he should be confused or insulted. "Are you flirting with me, Master Dwarf?"

He had not meant to, but had been fighting the urge since nearly their first day training. He huffed a laugh; half disbelief, half wounded pride. "If you have to ask, then I must be more out of practice than I had thought." Now that he had crossed the line, he would not deny that it had happened.

She twittered a laugh of her own and leaned her head back onto his shoulder to meet his eyes. "Not so poorly at all," and her cheeks pinked in the way that he enjoyed so much, "only; I did not think that Dwarves cared for the fairer sex."

He laughed outright at the ridiculous thought. "Whatever would have given you that idea?" At his outburst, her blush spread to cover her entire face and he had the sudden urge to lay his cheek upon her own to feel the heat of it. "I confess, I have turned many a pretty maid's head in my time, Dwarven and not."

"Dwarven maids?" She pulled away from him and he let her go, though it was the opposite of what he wanted. "I did not think such a thing existed." She settled the blade on the ground before turning to face him fully and with only a slight hesitation, rested her hands on his chest. He covered her hands with his own, threading his fingers through hers once more. "Are you not mined from the earth fully formed as the legends say?"

He chuckled, a deep and heartfelt sound."Goodness no." Here he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in towards her. "I'll let you in on a secret of my people." She leaned forwards as well, a mischievous smile on her face, and leaving hardly any space between them. "Dwarven women are our greatest treasure, guarded more fiercely than all the gold and mithril to be found. That is why they are so rarely seen." He closed the distance to brush her nose with his own before pulling away again. "That, and not many outside of Dwarves can distinguish them from men when they do go out."

She breathed a laugh and there was a light to her eyes that had not been in them before. "So, if I were to do this," and she brushed her lips against his cheek, near the corner of his mouth, "then you would know what it means?" Her smile was coy now, and he had to remind himself that she was still young, and had likely never had a suitor before.

"I would think that you need more practice with your aim, My Lady." His smirk took on an impish tilt. "I believe that you have missed your target."

He watched as her blush spread further down, past the collar of her shirt, and before he could think to steal a kiss for himself, Sigrid had sealed her lips over his. She was too forceful and their teeth clacked together at first, but Fíli was nothing if not a patient teacher. He shifted his head to a better angle and took control of the kiss, softening the motions. He pulled her hands up to settle on his shoulders before moving his own to her waist and pulling her closer. She shuffled forwards until her feet hit the crate that he was standing on. The noise was soft, but the motion was jarring, and she pulled away and took several steps back; her breath coming in little puffs. He stepped down to the ground but did not approach her, unsure of where this change now left them.

She closed her eyes and drew in a shaking breath before meeting his gaze again. "I've been wanting to do that for ages now."

He did not hold back the smile that her words evoked and was pleased to see a matching one cross her face. "Me too." His expression dimmed before before either of them could move and he cursed himself and his sense of duty. "But I need you to understand our situation." The words hurt him to say, but he forced them out, "I do care about you, Sigrid. But I am Heir to the Mountain and you are the Lady of Dale," for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing the responsibility was someone else's to bear, "and no matter what we may want for ourselves, I can make you no promises."

He waited for her answer with held breath and told himself that it was good for her to think long on the matter. Finally she nodded and it was with overwhelming relief that he took her hand when she offered it to him.

* * *

><p>AN: I love a good Dworin bromance, it makes me smile. Again, Youtube is my source for knowledge on all things to do with weapons and combat. I'm sticking with quarterstaffs, not quarterstaves because 'ffs', and I want to. Nyah.

A/N:Zê'mim Imgam is Khuzdul and is based on the saber move Moulinette, which means Little Windmill (it's the closest that I could find). Links again, are on my LJ and include two beginner one handed sword training videos, two on quarterstaffs, and one choreographed fight that was used as the template for Thorin and Dwalin's spar.


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